Lux Aeterna
by Brytte Mystere
Summary: Knowingly or not, our past keeps influencing our future. Especially, it seems, when it comes to those not born from the Lion's song. Pedmund, Bro-Sis Incest tw, Fem!Edmund AU (REWRITTEN CHAPTERS ON AO3. The old version will remain here on until I reach 25K words there too)
1. Harsh Choices, New Beginnings

_**A/N:**_ So, this fandom had swallowed me right now. This will be Pedmund, people, and Edmund here is female, called Edmée (the closest female version of his name I've been able to find, from the French version of Ed's name). So, warnings for incest and Rule 63. Also, **TRIGGER WARNINGS** for someone trying to abuse a child (the child is saved on time, though).

 _ **Lux Aeterna**_

 **1 – Harsh Choices, New Beginnings**

 _London, October 1934_

Edmée "Ed" Pevensie held her ground in front of her parents, even if her father's hard stare was making her dread threaten to drown her, for she was a rather clever girl, and knew that if she showed the slightest hint of indecision, her parents would never agree. And she _needed them to_. Ed could no longer go on as she was, and even at her tender four years of age, had got ready for that very argument (well, with Susan's help, but Susan _had_ agreed that she had to do it alone, at the very least when confronting their parents). She was ready to _negotiate_ , as long as she got what she wanted more than anything else.

"Edmée, love–" said her mother, a concerned look on her face as she stared at her daughter, who stood straight in front of the dinner table, for once not flinching at her full name (mostly since the only ones in the house were Helen and Joseph Pevensie). "Are you telling us that you are... a boy?"

At that, Joseph Pevensie eyed his daughter, memories of a half-forgotten conversation with one of his co-workers, talking about the theories of a certain Carl Jung coming back with a new clarity, and briefly wondered if his daughter was, indeed, a transvestite.

Ed frowned, because it seemed they didn't _get it_ , and she just _knew_ that she would be tired of repeating herself by the time her siblings came back from the neighbour's birthday party.

"No. I'm a girl. I was born a girl _feeling_ like a girl and I _like_ being a girl. That's not what I mean."

Ed was fine being a girl. Her problem was that she didn't want to _look_ like one.

Forever in her mind would remain the memory of an incident that had been hunting her since the very last year, the first and last time she would ever go to _any_ party to the Perry's. The same party she had gotten away from going by feigning a very bad stomachache (which her parents had known right away was false, but once her tantrum threatened to awaken the finally asleep baby, Lucy, they had capitulated and let her stay).

* * *

 _Edmée had gotten tired of the party really soon, especially when one took into account that Mark Perry and his sister Darcy were Peter and Susan's friends, not hers. She had been so excited when her mother had made Peter and Susan bring her with them, away from the baby that had taken all their attention from her. She thought it would be fun._

 _She was wrong._

 _Peter and Susan had brought her, yes, but even Peter, who used to lavish her with attention every time she was nearby before the new baby had been born–more than Susan ever had, at least–deserted her once Mark and Darcy came for him, leaving her with the elder Perrys. And Edmée, being the only child under five in Mark's party, couldn't find anyone willing to play with her._

 _She felt dejected, for she had put on her very best dress, Susan's favourite, the dark blue one with green and silver details, and the silver ribbons Peter had gifted her with during her last birthday. The ones she hadn't had a chance to wear for the first time since briefly putting them on last September for her birthday photos. The ones that he had said, "made a beautiful contrast with her hair". She had dressed her best, endured hours of mother's fussing over her shoulder-length hair, and twirled endless times for her father, all for... What? Being forgotten by her siblings? Rejected by Mark and Darcy's stupid friends?_

 _The next time Mrs Perry got distracted by one of her pompous friends, Edmée slipped away, toward the Perry's backyard._

 _It was barely past six, and yet the sky had already begun to darken, the sun about to set._

 _Edmée wanted to cry, but she had had enough of being called a baby for one day, and since Peter and Susan were already embarrassed for having had to bring her with them, she didn't want to give them any more reasons._

 _"Is this your first party, little one?" said then a voice from her back._

 _Edmée, who up until that moment had thought herself alone, actually jumped, a scared gasp leaving her lips before her pride could silence it. Blushing, ashamed at having been caught so out of guard, she turned around. Sam Bagley, Mark and Darcy's cousin, whose high school graduation party had been less than a week ago, stood by the door to the backyard, which was now closed, even if Edmée would have sworn that she had left it open._

 _"Ehm... Yes."_

 _She wanted to be left alone to brood in peace, or even better, go back home alone–it was only a few blocks away, after all–but her mother, Susan and her teachers had always told her that she had to act as a proper little Lady, and saying such a thing as "Leve me alone" would be considered rude of a Lady, so she hoped that he would get tired of being around a three-year old and go away soon._

 _But he didn't look bored. His dark eyes were focused on her with such an intensity that she feared he would end up staring a hole through her. And then he walked right up to her, until she had to tilt her head upwards to look at him._

 _"I'm not sure if I'm the first one to tell you this, young lady, but you look positively marvellous. Blue and green greatly fit your fair skin."_

 _She had been expecting praises for her clothes all day, so Edmée could not understand why his words made her uneasy. Nonetheless, he_ _ **had**_ _praised her, so she gave him the brightest smile she could muster, even with her uneasiness and dread upsetting her stomach._

 _He was barely a meter away, those dark eyes still focused firmly on her, and Edmée felt the need to run for some reason. He reached to her ribbons with one hand, a smile that made her even more nervous fixed on his lips, and when his fingers touched her hair, she involuntarily recoiled, a shiver of extreme disgust passing through her, although she could not fathom the reason._

 _He didn't notice, or maybe he didn't care, for he kept getting closer and now not even twisting her neck upwards could she see his face, her sight barely reaching his neck._

 _"Such a beautiful lady, as young as you are, should never be alone in a dark backyard, my dear."_

 _Edmée couldn't breathe. She could not move. Her body had frozen on the spot, the terror that had been building up–since she first saw him looking at her, she noticed now–suddenly choking her with its intensity._

 _"Why, with someone as beautiful as you, how could anyone contain themselves? Especially in such a marvellous dress..." he said, as his hand moved to caress her cheek._

 _ **No. No. Please, please, please...**_ _Edmée didn't know what, exactly, was she praying for, but she had never felt more relieved than when she heard her brother calling her name, a slightly desperate "Edmée!" that reached her even through the closed door. Her body unfroze all at once, and she practically jumped away from Sam and his disturbingly focused eyes, his reaching hands still moving toward her, as if he was planning to touch her again._

 _"PETER!" she cried, pounding against the door, which opened right then, Peter's frantic eyes quickly falling upon her, as if checking for injuries. She just hugged him, finally,_ _ **finally**_ _feeling safe again, tears already falling from her eyes, her previous concerns about being considered a baby dismissed in Peter's warm embrace. "Peter, I want to go home. I want to go home NOW."_

 _She had her face pressed against his chest, so Edmée couldn't see him looking at the now empty backyard, blue eyes dark with anger born out of having one of the most important people in his life endangered–and guilt, for he blamed himself for his sister being in danger in the first place–, before he pulled her with him to grab Susan and go back home with an apology to his friends–although his rather cold look to his supposed best friend did raise several eyebrows–, for his little sister was upset and as her elder brother, he had to take her back home. Susan didn't complain at being taken from the party, and when Edmée looked up at her, she looked strangely pale._

 _Peter had her cocooned on his side the short way home, and Susan, way-too-pale Susan, grabbed her shoulder the whole way too, as if Edmée would vanish into thin air unless they kept their grip on her._

 _Their parents were confused at their early arrival–the party wasn't meant to end until eight o'clock–, but Helen Pevensie didn't doubt to prepare the bath for her little Edmée, while Joseph made his daughter's favourite hot chocolate, at seeing her so upset._

 _While her mother helped her out of her dress, Edmée looked at herself in the full-body mirror, and noticed for the very first time that one of her ribbons was missing._

 _When that night she slipped into Peter's bed, trembling, her teddy bear not able to keep the nightmares away by itself anymore, he accepted her without a word. She couldn't even understand her fear, why she had felt so incredibly dirty after realizing that one of her ribbons was missing–to the point that her mother had had to take the sponge out from her hands, since she was leaving her fair skin almost raw–, or why she had quietly asked Susan if she could throw the dress and the remaining ribbon out with the trash without Mother or Father realizing (which her sister had done without muttering a single word, still rather pale-faced)._

 _Susan, few minutes after Edmée had settled safely between her brother's arms, had entered the room, a frantic look on her face that diluted into a heartfelt_ _ **relief**_ _when she saw her little sister's black curls peeking out from under Peter's sheets, and with no need for conversation, Peter moved until there was enough space for her too on his bed–which had once been their parent's bed, and thus was far larger than most six-year-old beds–, both of them curling around an already half-asleep Edmée._

 _"Su?" had she muttered then, while her siblings curled around her, as if forming a protective cocoon._

 _"Shhh," had answered her sister, pressing a kiss to her still somewhat damp hair, "we'll keep you safe, sis."_

 _"We're here for you, Eddie," said Peter then, pressing a kiss on her hair too._

 _The next morning, Helen was checking her children after feeding Lucy, only to find them curled under Peter's baby blue sheets. The sight was so adorable that she let them sleep in for the day._

* * *

Ed had not forgotten that sickening feeling she had felt then, and from that day on, she had been more and more sensitive to the stares up until _that_ day she hadn't been able to understand nor be upset about. Nor that she truly understood _why_ did the stares upset her, she had been told many a time that being stared at– _ogled at_ , as Susan called it, whatever _that_ meant–was mere proof of a Lady's beauty and wasn't an upsetting matter.

But it _did_ upset Ed, and since the day of the party, she had slowly–with Susan's help–become more and more tomboyish, or at least as much a girl could be with skirts and dresses. It wasn't _enough_ , though, and for that, she had required her brother's help too. Peter had given her some of his clothes, even if they were so big on her frame that she had needed three belts to keep everything from falling off.

Thusly dressed, she had waited until her siblings had gone to the party–not nearly as happily as the last time, she had noted–to confront her parents, dressed in Peter's clothes, looking in fact like a scrawny boy with clothes three times his size. It wasn't the first time Peter had lend her his clothes–especially pants and shirts–, but it _was_ the first time she put them on directly at home, and not changed behind their backyard's bushes, Peter and Susan acting as privacy curtains and vigils at once.

"I want boy clothes, like Peter's, for going outside the house, or when we have visitors. In exchange," said Ed, subtly looking at the notes Susan had left for her, hidden from her parent's view by Peter's too-long-for-her sleeves, "I'll be the most proper Lady England has seen at boarding school. But I want my boy clothes."

Helen and Joseph were baffled, for sure, but her request ended up being accepted. And in not less than a month, in part thanks to her mother's art with sewing, Edmée, who had been preferring to be called "Ed" when not in the privacy of their little family for a while, had a wardrobe full of boy clothes, which she used most often.

After several years, most of the neighbourhood had accepted that Peter had a younger brother, _"Ed"_ , and two younger sisters.

Peter and Ed were pretty close, and could often be found playing on the nearby park, cricket or footie, or whichever game struck their fancy, as lively and affectionate as two English boys could be, their sisters going with them from time to time.

The Pevensies were weird in some ways–there were rumours of another daughter who lived in Cambridge and would only met Susan once she started going to Susan's boarding school–, but they had their very own balance, and they were happy.

That is, until Ed came back from the last term of her first year in boarding school.

 _ **A/N:**_ Now I'll say, part of the reason Edmée being, well, a _girl_ isn't very well known in the neighbourhood (or, well, well _remembered_ ) it's mostly due to Edmée's reclusive nature prior to what from now on shall be known as the Perry Incident. That was the first party she ever went to, and since no moves whatsoever were made to try to change her sex or her papers (which identify her a female), there hasn't been any kind of scandal. And I'll say right here and now that no, Edmée isn't transsexual, because she's a cis female who dresses as a boy and acts boyish out of convenience, not because she's a guy in a girl's body. And sorry for the long A/N, but I think is very important to stress this, because a lot of the hate the trans community gets from ignorant dunderheads comes from the belief that they're men or women who merely "dress and act" as the other sex for convenience. So there's that.


	2. Goodbye, Halcyon Days

_**A/N:**_ Many thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read this story! By the by, I read Angel Baby1's fic, " _Winter Prince_ ", and I must say I love it, and I recommend it to everyone. Since I could not find proper sources to tell me about British boarding schools, I decided that Ed started hers at 8, this chapter starting at the end of her second year, when she's nine to ten. Also, this ended up being incredibly long, but then I really wanted to reach canon's story start before starting college (and I'll start tomorrow, so...)

 _ **Lux Aeterna**_

 **2 – Goodbye, Halcyon Days**

Edmée was tired. Tired of fake smiles, tired of fake friends, tired of giving, and _giving and giving_ , until there was nothing of her left, just to get a little of their attention, of their _love_ , as fake and poisonous as she knew it was. It wouldn't matter, she had guessed, if their friendship was truly as shallow as it seemed. _She wanted it_. She wanted to be invited to their parties, their tea dates, their stupidly stupid conversations.

 _She had though herself safe, surrounded as she would be by other girls on all sides, all the time, in her boarding school. She thought she would see Susan every day, like back at home, since even if they didn't have the same classes or slept in the same building, they would still attend the same boarding school, and having only Susan was better than not having anyone–it was hard enough to have to leave warm Peter and bright Lucy behind–even if her elder sister's mothering could get annoying at times._

(She had been a fool)

But she would be going home soon, and if Susan hadn't cached up on her darkening moods all through the last two years–thanks, she guessed, to how little they saw each other, even going to the same boarding school–, Peter (or even worse, _Lucy_ ) would certainly do so.

She always had to be careful when going back home for the holidays, for her siblings tended to become annoyingly observant at home. Thus, she spent the hour before leaving looking at herself on her room's vanity's mirror–free of her annoying dormmate at long last–, with her own dark brown eyes staring back, locking every negative, _poisonous_ feeling that had been threatening to drown her during her stay at the boarding school. Home was _safe_ , and the last thing she wanted was to bring the toxicity of her academic life to her safe place.

The first days, everything was perfect, or as perfect as it could be in their situation, with the rationing. The siblings bundled together around their parents once they arrived home, listening to the Old Tales, like Homer's or Shakespeare's. Each of them (even Lucy, who still needed some help but had a good acting voice) could choose a character and read their lines every time it came up in the story. Joseph and Helen Pevensie always took the ones who talked the most, though, but the children didn't mind all that much.

Edmée lost herself in the simple comfort of her clothing parades with Susan, where Peter and Lucy waited for them at the living room, bemused and expectant–while their parents were working–for Susan and Edmée to descend the stairs, dressed in their most beautiful dresses, hair styled and make up on, twirling around the living room as Peter and Lucy's delighted laughs seemed to cuddle them in a delirious happiness Edmée had sorely missed. She then put her make up off, her boy clothes back on, and they all would go to the nearby park to play crocket, or footie, and Lucy would be the judge that counted the points, while Susan would catch the ball if Ed failed to do so. Everything seemed perfect.

 _She really should have seen it coming._

* * *

That night, once they all gone to sleep, Ed sneaked out of her room into the kitchen. She was very careful not to step on the creaking parts of the stairs, for she just felt thirsty and didn't want to wake anyone up unnecessarily, knowing a glass of water would do the trick. Nonetheless, to go to the kitchen, one had to walk past her parents' bedroom, on the first floor, which was extra difficult for her father was a light sleeper. Thus, Ed went particularly slow while passing by. And then her mother's voice reached her through the door.

Helen Pevensie sounded anxious, sadder than Ed had ever heard her.

"Joseph... Joseph, we _must_ tell them soon..."

Edmée froze on her tracks. She knew she shouldn't eavesdrop on her parents, but whatever they were talking about seemed important, and from what her mother had just said, something they were keeping from their children. _From her_. Edmée could not recall the last time her father had ever kept something big from her, apart from the location of her Christmas presents.

"Oh Helen, they've just come back! Can't I let them enjoy these last days? Must I burden them so?"

"Joseph, the more we wait the worse it'll be. Peter and Susan already suspect there's something wrong. It's a small wonder that Edmée hasn't, but then, she has been distracted and somewhat aloof since she started at her new school. And Lucy..."

"I know, I know! I just... I just wanted to spend these last days in peace. Heaven knows once I'm on the front, I'll have no time for much _but_ the war..."

Edmée would have sworn that something was tearing her heart apart, as she processed her father's words.

 _The front. The front? The_ _ **front**_ _... Oh. Oh. Oh, no._

Her father, it seemed, had been called to fight for England.

Thirst forgotten as a sharp pain went through her chest, she bolted back to her room, not caring how much noise she made, barely managing to close her door when her grief exploded, tears falling like a river, as breathing became an impossible task. She heard doors opening, and the next thing she knew, Peter was there, trying to hug her and asking her what was wrong.

All the control she had mustered to keep her despair, her anger, and frustration in check vanished, so she did the only thing she felt able to do. Her fists hit Peter, who, surprised by the attack, was not ready to take it on or contain it, his balance quickly lost as his back hit the ground, Ed straddling him as she kept hitting everything she could reach, until he managed to grab her hands and thus stop her punches, his stupidly baby blue eyes looking up at her, confusion and concern twirling on them as he kept himself from answering her abuse. She pressed her feet to the ground then, ready to rise and use her whole torso as a weapon, with her hands temporally captured, when Susan, quickly followed by their parents and Lucy, burst into the room.

They must have looked quite strange, Peter and her, but Edmée didn't have time for shame or bashfulness. She impulsed herself on her feet, bringing Peter with her half the way up until he released her, her body twirling as she almost stepped on his left shoulder, her furious stare fixed on her parents, her father in particular.

"TELL THEM!" she screamed, hitting his chest. "TELL THEM, TELL THEM, TELL THEM!"

Her tears were still falling, her body trembling as her sobs wrecked her whole. Joseph Pevensie's eyes widened, as he understood that his daughter had overheard him, being thus the sound that had disrupted his conversation with his wife. Edmée kept hitting him, but he could not bear to stop her, for the despair in her face was there for all to see. He had never seen his daughter disrupted like this, and he could see his children staring at him, while his wife remained by his side, face distressed but unable to move to stop their daughter from hitting her father, as frozen in place as him.

Edmée had remained pretty stoic since the end of her first term at the boarding school, merely allowing herself smiles and laughs when with her closest family, so her rawness caught everyone unawares.

"Edmée–"

"NO! _NO!_ _**NO!**_ " cried her, interrupting her father. "YOU'RE GOING–! YOU'RE GOING AWAY! TO _WAR_! AND YOU DIDN'T– _YOU WEREN'T GOING TO TELL US!_ "

Peter, who had risen from the floor and had been about to restrain his sister again, froze in place, his face paling as he understood her cries. Susan gasped, while Lucy, eyes fixed on their father, barely managed to say: "Dad is...Dad is going to war?"

Edmée, at that, stilled, eyes burning cold and a sneer twisting her lips, her hands remaining clawed by her sides, whole body shivering by an emotion she could not define as anything but _toxic_. She turned, and her eyes had never looked darker as she focused on her sister, who belatedly realized that attracting Ed's attention in such a moment was probably the least wise thing to do.

" _Yes_ ," she said, poison dripping from every sound, "he's off to _die_ , _**cannon fodder**_ , as all the others."

And before her parents could scold her for her cruel words, before anyone could do anything but stare at her in abject horror, Ed had already left her room.

* * *

Peter followed her, of course, as Lucy broke down in tears, telling himself that his littlest sister had their parents and Susan, as if that would thaw the shame he felt for leaving her behind.

But he _knew_ Edmée, _where_ she would go, and how much she would need him. After all, he knew deep down that, as hurtful and shocking as it was, merely knowing that their father had been called to the front–something all of them had been dreading for years–, would not have caused such a breakdown in Edmée.

Susan had, after all, expressed her concern about their sister's problems at their boarding school. That Ed had showed no outward signs of distress at home had just worried Peter and Susan that much more, knowing as they did of Ed's tendency to swallow whatever feelings she had until they exploded in her face and left her composure in tatters.

He stopped at the closed door of his room, which he remembered leaving open, hearing Ed's muffled sobs even with the cries and arguments coming from her room.

(He would recognize her distress everywhere)

Careful not to make more noise than absolutely necessary, Peter entered his room, closing the door again behind him. Edmée was curled between his bed and his nightstand, head hidden behind her knees as her sobs made her whole body tremble.

Peter approached her slowly, going on his knees right in front of her, just letting her get used to his presence for a while. She eventually let him hold her, holding him tightly as he rocked them both a little, but she still didn't say a word.

"Ed... Would you mind, sleeping here tonight?" He was not sure in benefit of whom he had made that proposal. On one hand, he knew she wouldn't sleep a wink if she was left alone (and he feared she would do something disastrous if left unsupervised). On the other, the news of his father leaving were finally starting to take root in his mind, the only reason he hadn't broken into sobs himself being needing to be strong for Ed. If she left him right then, he guessed, neither would get any sleep. And if being together gave them both some comfort, then, why would they choose to be miserable? Their parents, or Susan herself, could take care of Lucy, and he was sure that they could comfort each other quite well.

Ed, though, would not accept any comfort from any of them. Not their parents–for he knew Ed felt now betrayed by them–, nor Susan–for she had stopped going to her after her first term at the boarding school–, nor Lucy–for she was their younger sister, and Ed's already fragile pride would not let herself be "weak" in front of her.

It was a small miracle that she had let Peter put her to bed, that she even then let him hug her as tightly as he could without harming her, and he feared anything could break the fragile peace that had been stablished between them.

He should have known better. _That was the last night Edmée accepted any comfort from him._

* * *

Three days later, the Pevensies were saying goodbye. Well, all except Edmée, in her boy clothes, face fixed in a stony expression none of them knew what to do about.

Once his wife and all his other children had said their goodbyes to him, Joseph approached his (admittedly) favourite child, who merely fixed her eyes on him, their dark depths not betraying anything.

"Ed..."

"I won't say goodbye," said her, voice colder than he had ever heard toward him, "so you'll have something to come back for. _I won't say goodbye_ , so dead, alive or in pieces, _you'll have to come back._ Even if only as a ghost. You'll have to come back. To say goodbye. Don't you _dare_ to leave without doing so. That shall be your unfinished business on this Earth."

Thus said, she turned and ran away from the station, quickly followed by Peter and Susan, but not before Joseph saw her heart breaking in those dark, dark eyes of hers. Even as new tears fell from his eyes, he smiled.

"Yes... I'll have to, won't I?"

The train left, carrying Joseph Pevensie and many others away, to the hell on earth that is war, his wife and his youngest daughter the only ones from his family left to see him go.

And even as the remaining Pevensies went back home–reuniting in front of the station–, Ed never said anything else, and her family carefully avoided mentioning the tears that marred her otherwise impervious façade.

* * *

Once back home, alone in her room after announcing she wouldn't have dinner, Edmée discovered why she had been aching the last few days.

Susan–who had carried a dish up to her sister to try to cajole her into eating something–would find her sister curled against the feet of her bed, bloodied white underwear barely hidden by her sheets as Ed hid within her robe. Without a word, Susan left the dish on the nightstand, and helped her sister to go to the bathroom without their family noticing, leaving with her a black tower, clean pyjamas, and a pair of sanitary bloomers (1). She would have liked to try to comfort her sister on her first blood, but mere hours ago they had possibly seen their father for the very last time, and Ed hadn't been prone to accept comfort from anyone without a venomous verbal retaliation since the morning after discovering their father's fate, so Susan opted for the cautious approach and left Edmée in peace. Their mother, after all, had already gone to bed–after charging Susan with Ed's plate and making her eat something–and Susan intuited that her sister would prefer to be left alone for the remaining of the day.

Thus, even if a part of her wanted to do nothing but to hug her sister and distract her from the pain she had been feeling–going by the faces she had made as they made their way to the bathroom–, Susan merely took the bloody clothes to the washboard, choosing to wash them right then to avoid the blood tainting permanently Ed's shorts.

While she scrubbed the blood out of her sister's shorts and underwear, Susan let herself cry.

She may just have lost her father to the war, her mother already seemed to be fading at her strenuous work in the factory, and as natural as it was, her sister's first bleeding just reminded her that they were all growing up. Would her father return to see them as adults? Would he _return at all?_ Susan Pevensie cried, silent sobs as tears fell from her eyes, wondering if at some point in time, someone would have to wash her father's blood from his clothes. She finished her work and put Ed's boy clothes to dry, but her mind could not avoid thinking about the sight of her sister's blood on her hands as she washed her shorts, could not avoid thinking if maybe it all was an omen, to lose their father and have their sister bleed on the very same day.

 _Would Ed be the next one they would loose?_

And if Susan sneaked into Lucy's bed that night–after making sure that Ed was lying on her bed with the sanitary bloomer on, covers reaching her neck, unmoving even as Susan kissed her dark hair–, then, she consoled herself by thinking that Lucy, at least, still had a long way to go. Lucy, at least, was still a child. And Susan swore then and there that she would protect her littlest sister's childish innocence, as she hadn't been able to protect Edmée's.

But then, her sister had always preferred to do things on her own terms, be it with her clothes or her way of dealing with bullies. Susan told herself that she couldn't have done anything to keep restless, adventurous Edmée safe. That that had always been Peter's job.

(It was an empty comfort)

* * *

Not six months after their father's departure, the bombings started. When the Pevensie children stood again in the train station, this time as passengers, Ed allowed herself to say goodbye.

None of them knew that, again, things would change drastically.

 _ **A/N:**_ So, I had to research how women managed their periods during WWII, and I decided that the Pevensies, who never seemed particularly wealthy, would make use of Sanitary Bloomers (the 1 on this chapter), which were in use since around 1934, which looked like the briefs we know, and absorbed menstrual blood. Now, this I've learned through google, so if any of you know something better, please tell. Also, apparently not many people had washing machines during WWII, so the Pevensies have a washboard to help to wash clothes by hand. Also, yes, I made Ed have her first period at ten years old more for personal reasons than any kind of research about common times to have first periods during the 30-40s.


	3. The Wardrobe

_**A/N**_ : So! Finally, within the canon timeline! _Let's get started, people!_ Also, I've been rereading _Terror Gold_ by Lirenel and the several (amazing) fics derived. It's truly a marvellous 'verse you set for us all, Lirenel!

 _ **Lux Aeterna**_

 _ **3 – The Wardrobe**_

 _Professor Digory Kirke's house, January 3_ _rd_ _, 1940_

Edmée wanted to blame her actions on her period pains, but by then she knew well enough that her attitude toward Lucy had more to do with her increased annoyance at her sister's continuous nonsense than with anything else. Nonetheless, she felt that Peter and Susan's scolding was woefully unnecessary. They had, after all, just called Lucy delusional to her face, and wasn't _that_ mean too? So what, _maybe_ she had been a little too sarcastic with Lu. Lucy should by now be _used to it_. If she kept reacting as she had to the slightest hint of meanness, once she started boarding school, the vipers hidden under kind faces would _eat her alive_. In a sense, one could say that Ed was merely doing what had to be done for her sister, since Peter and Susan kept treating her with kid gloves.

Also, was it her fault, that Peter and Susan only seemed to pay attention to her when she did something wrong? With how high-and-mighty they were acting, one would think they hadn't ever teased or been mean to her. _And they had_. Ed could recall with perfect clarity each and every time they had ditched her for their friends, each time Susan had looked at her with that _I-don't-know-why-I-put-up-with-you_ face when Ed chose to wear her shorts under her dresses (as if Ed had ever been the type to trust skirts after the Perry Incident), or Peter had looked exasperated at her following him around (as if she could ever trust another boy enough to follow _them_ around). So she really didn't get why her siblings were being so utterly self-righteous. But it was really, really, _really_ annoying.

She guessed she could have done like their cousin Eustace, and kept a diary to write about anything and everything that annoyed her, but the mere idea of someone reading it without her permission–or worse, using her private thoughts against her–had always kept her from doing so. After all, if _she_ had managed to get Alice Lightwood to _stop_ bullying her, it had been thanks to said girl's diary.

It was amusing to remember the thrill her successful plan had filled her with, during every single step of the way. Some things had gone badly and she had been forced to improvise, sure, but in the end she had managed to strong-arm her enemy into a truce of sorts. It had left her isolated and ignored, but back then she had told herself that being ignored was better than being bullied.

(Ed hadn't been able to foresee the _loneliness_ )

Oh, and there she was, moping. Scolding herself mentally, Ed ordered her thoughts. She knew she was merely putting things off, and if there was something she absolutely _hated_ , was being inconsistent with herself, for while she wore her boy clothes, as at that very moment–for she had only brought her boy clothes to the Professor's house–Ed could not, _would not_ , lie to herself. As Ed, she was confident, and certainly not a Lady, so there were no masks to keep, beyond her impervious façade, and that only if she had an audience. No. What was _wrong_ , what had left her in a twirl of angry thoughts, was not truly the unfairness of her siblings' attitudes. It was the fact that she had been _hurt_ by their actions. Which was annoying, because she wasn't supposed to let them get to her in any way.

If her father had been able to betray her, Ed had thought, so could they, and beyond her weak moment with Peter ( _Peter, Peter, it was always bloody Peter, messing up her certainties and oaths_ ), she hadn't allowed herself to lower her guard around them, even when Susan had caught her in a certainly awkward situation.

 _What was she supposed to do?_ Smile and tell Lucy that she believed her preposterous story about a whole magical land inside of a wardrobe? _Peter and Susan_ themselves had dismissed the story without a second thought. Why was _she_ the one being scolded? Why was _she_ the one left alone? Why was _she_ the one punished? _It wasn't fair. It hurt, and it wasn't fair._

But if something could be praised about Edmée, it would be her _adaptability_. She had been moved from her shared room with Lucy to Peter's, for Susan had said that he would be the best to keep her out of trouble, as if Edmée was some kind of misbehaving pet. And Edmée knew how to deal with annoying dormmates. She had learned to keep her guard up even in the deepest of sleeps.

So when Peter came back into the room, disappointed frown still on his face, Ed was already burrowed within her sheets, her back to the brother with whom she had been closest. Peter had made his choice, and that had opened a chasm between them. If he had expected a heartfelt apology or a long confession on her motives, he was in for a very long wait.

It was hard, not being able to trust him like before, but she had by then adapted to her new circumstances. And she would not falter. Her way was set.

 _Even if Peter was involved._

* * *

 _Professor Kirke's house, February 1_ _st_ _, 1940_

She had felt unsettled the whole day. Maybe it had been due to her barely-remembered dreams, maybe it was just nervousness at not having been left out of Peter's sight except when going to the bathroom–seriously, exactly _how long_ did he plan to keep that up? Was she to be watched forever?–, or simply her usual restlessness. Thing is, she had risen to go to the bathroom and wash her teeth again–it became somewhat of a nervous habit at times–, and just when she was going back to the room she shared with Peter, she saw Lucy in the distance, going into what she supposed was the spare room with the thrice damned wardrobe.

Forgetting about Peter's annoying vigilance–which she had only evaded because he was half-asleep and she had said she would only go to the bathroom and back–, Edmée followed her sister, decided to drag her back into bed if needed. Because, really, was she mad? If the Macready caught her past curfew...

Edmée was in the spare room soon enough, but by then her sister was nowhere on sight. The wardrobe had the door barely open, though, and she could almost imagine Lucy inside, imagining that magical world of hers. _Really_. Well, Ed told herself that if it was up to her to root her sister back on Earth, she would do it.

Opening the door with one swift movement, intended to announce her presence without need for words, Edmée found herself face to face with a bunch of coats and old boots, her sister nowhere in sight.

 _Oh, well then. Are we doing things the hard way?_

She resolutely closed the door behind her, accepting that she would probably spent several hours trapped inside the wardrobe with her delusional sister, all for the good of bringing Lucy back to reality. Or, so she thought, but even as she went further inside, through the coats, stepping over the old shoes, she could not feel nor hear nor see Lucy, tripping and going face-down into a snowy ground that had no business in a wardrobe.

As she managed to get back on her feet, her boy pyjamas suddenly too thin for the weather, Edmée stared at the forest in front of her.

 _Are you bloody_ _ **joking**_ _?_

Was she hallucinating too? She had heard about something similar, hallucinations that started to affect the whole family of the first delirious one. She wasn't really sure what to think.

So, choosing to leave the hallucination-or-not debate for later, Ed picked the first coat at hand–a greyish one–and readied herself for a walk through the frozen forest, leaving her slippers at the inner edge of the wardrobe, snow-boots on.

She had to find Lucy.

And then, _then_ , she would demand her answers.

 _ **A/N**_ : Well, shorter chap than most, but it felt right to end it here.


	4. The White Witch

_**N/A**_ : Warnings for Angst in this chapter. Also, yes, the coat Ed picked up last chapter is the one Skandar Keynes wears in the LWW movie.

 _ **Lux Aeterna**_

 _ **4 – The White Witch**_

Edmée could have sworn that she had been walking through the woods for hours.

She had kept on, calling Lucy less and less as even her fur coat couldn't stop her throat from getting cold and parched. Every breath was like daggers in her lungs, air as frozen as the landscape it swept through. She was obviously lost, had just barely run from _a bell sound_ for apparently no reason whatsoever, and to boot, the pair of old boots she had put on after leaving her slippers behind in the wardrobe, which were way too big for her feet (making walking–and running–through the snow and even harder job). It had seemed like a good choice at the time, for the boots were made _for_ waking on snow, but she had been regretting her choice for a while now. At least the slippers would have given her comfort.

By the time she started to think that maybe there was no hope at all and she would die, frozen in her sister's magical land, she saw what seemed to be a door on a tree not too far away.

Getting desperate and belatedly remembering Lucy's supposedly faun friend, she hoped that maybe the creatures in this magical land would be kind and merciful toward a little girl freezing on their doorstep, so she knocked several times, her body getting slower and slower by the minute.

Ed had started to wonder if she had truly had the misfortune of not catching anyone at home, when the door opened and what looked _indeed_ like a faun stood in front of her. He–for she guessed the faun was a _he_ , no story she had ever read had talked about faun females (she would know, she had devoured every Greek myth she could find)–looked at her, clearly stunned, and Edmée started to wonder if he would just keep staring at her until she froze to death.

"Mr Tu-Tu-Tumnus?" her chattering teeth were making it difficult to speak, but nonetheless she pressed forward. "I-I-I'm Lu-Lucy's sis-ter..."

That seemed to bring him out of his shock, and he quickly pulled her inside, muttering apologies and asking if she wanted some tea.

"Y-Yes, please..."

He guided her into a big fluffy chair, and once she had drunk some of the marvellously hot tea, which warmed her to her very toes, she made the question she had been wanting to ask since the moment she had entered his house.

"Where is Lucy? I-I entered into the wardrobe mere minutes after her, but she was nowhere around..."

The faun, _Mr Tumnus_ , looked at her, pity clear in his eyes. "Oh, Lucy went back a while ago. You see, time, it... It's different, here in Narnia. Mere minutes on your world, can be hours here. And hours here can be mere seconds there. Have you been looking for her this whole time?"

"Well, yes. She's my little sister, I wasn't about to leave her alone in a forest with a stranger–no offense meant, of course..."

"None taken," he said, smiling.

"I mean, I was walking through the forest, and looking for Lucy, but then I heard a strange sound, like _bells–_ coming out of nowhere, can you believe it?–, and I really meant to stay and see if Lucy was there, in whatever that was, but... I had this... This... A _very bad feeling_ , and I just... I just ran. I would swear I heard something _roar_ at me, but seeing as we're in what seems to be a _woodland_ , that must have been my mind and the cold playing tricks on me..."

Ed stopped talking then, because the faun, who was already pale by nature–although not as much as her, she thought with some remaining bitterness–, paled further, as if she had just told him that the Devil itself had been chasing her.

" _The White Witch..._ " by the way he said the title, one could think she was the worst evil imaginable. _As if witches in fairy tales weren't ominous enough by themselves_. Edmée told herself she was glad for having avoided meeting her.

(Really, _one day_ she would have to learn to stop tempting Fate)

The faun and her talked for what seemed hours, about the evil White Witch; about Aslan, the Great Lion; about a prophecy concerning one Son of Adam and three Daughters of Eve; about his odious labour as one of the White Witch's supposed spies, and many more things.

"I'm not the only one, Edmée. There are many more, under the Witch's power but ready to sacrifice ourselves for a free Narnia. The one you and your siblings will bring."

She wanted to tell him that she was no hero, that she and her siblings were nothing but lost children in the middle of an awful war, that they might just be orphans and just didn't know it, and so many other things, but then a howl was heard, quickly followed by several more, getting closer and closer. Mr Tumnus was pulling her out of his house even before she could fully grasp what was going on, her coat abandoned on his armchair, the cold air fully snapping her back into situation, her robe nowhere thick enough to offer protection to something apart from her modesty.

It was all in vain.

They were approaching a dam when the same bell-like sound Ed had heard before came from their left, a sledge stopping so suddenly in front of them that she thought it would actually turn over. It had cut their scape, and by the time Mr Tumnus tried to move around it, search another way out, Ed knew they were lost. After all, the biggest wolves she had seen in her life, wolves bigger than she had ever dared to imagine, were surrounding them in all sides but their front, where the sledge stood.

The palest woman Ed had seen in her life–title that until then had referred to Edmée herself–rose from the sledge, hair a very pale shade of blonde, half-up with an ice crown as its only adorning feature, rose lips and eyes as dark as the moonless night sky. She wore a long, white fur-dress up to her shoulders, and large wand on her left hand.

There was no need for introductions, for Ed knew who the woman was instantly, with a rather painful clarity: _The White Witch_.

"Well, well, well... _Just look what we have here._ Tumnus, where do you think you're going?"

Mr Tumnus made his best to seem unperturbed, but his trembling chin delated him.

"I–I was merely going to visit a friend, your Majesty."

Her dark eyes narrowed, the uncanny beauty of her face seeming colder all of sudden, and Ed did her best not to move a muscle, for the horrifying beauty of the Witch only distressed her further, the dread that had moved her to run away the first time she heard the bells threatening now to drown her.

"The Trees have talked, Tumnus! They saw you speaking with a Daughter of Eve. And yet you _dare_ to lie to me!?"

If Edmée had been scared before, now she was absolutely terrified, for _she_ –and Mr Tumnus, she knew, by her peek at his face–knew that the girl, the _Daughter of Eve_ , as the Witch had called her, could be none other than Lucy. Yet, at the same time, a pure, joyful _relief_ washed through her, for her sister had gone back and if what Mr Tumnus had told her about Narnia's time was true, then she wouldn't be back in a long while, if at all, God willing.

The Witch raised her wand, and Ed found herself unfrozen at the same time the woman seemed to be going for the kill against the faun.

"Wait! Your-Your Majesty, please, wait! He was but leading me to you! But oh, I've found myself so _utterly unpresentable_ that he agreed to have a friend of his help me get ready to meet you, _O Queen!_ Please, forgive him. I–I am the Daughter of Eve. He was but trying to maintain my shame hidden, for this is no way to present myself to the great Queen of Narnia..." Edmée was pulling every trick she had learned when dealing with extremely dangerous and self-important girls in her boarding school, praying that the Witch would at the very least spare their lives. She couldn't die in a magical land away from home. Her father, in whichever way he came back, _would_ come back, if only to say goodbye. _She_ could not be the one to go without saying goodbye. And even _thinking_ what it would do to her mother, poor Helen Pevensie who worked herself to the bone for them all...

A harsh slap startled her from her frightened thoughts, and its force was so that she actually stumbled into the ground, Mr Tumnus' fearful gasp unheard as Edmée fought to get the blank spots out of her vision and her ears to stop ringing. Her collision against the cold, frozen ground hadn't helped, either, but when she rose her eyes to the Witch, she could see with an awful clarity the anger and sheer _hatred_ in those black orbs, snarl even more pronounced on her lips.

The White Witch had been the one to slap her.

"Don't think me a fool, Daughter of Eve. Flattery won't get you anywhere, nor will your lies. _No._ I'll let you live for now, yes. But hear this well," said the Witch, her cold hand grasping Edmée's chin hard enough to bruise it, "this I accept, for your fate awaits... Your siblings will surely come for you, and once they _do_ , I'll kill them in front of you, _dearest_ , before spilling your blood on the Stone Table."

All around them, the Witch's minions clamoured in joy, and as a dwarf bound her, Mr Tumnus barely had the time to clean some of the blood of her split lip with a hankie, before he, too, was bound, and the hankie fell to the floor. His hooves moved swiftly, covering it with snow before the others could notice, and thus they were dragged away, back into the Witch's castle.

Edmée wondered if it wouldn't have been better to die swiftly right then and there.

* * *

When Lucy came out of the wardrobe, she stumbled with something that made her land on her bum against the ground, a sound that in the previously quiet night, she was sure, would have reached pretty much everyone at the house.

Thus she was ready to run for it, sure that she would make it back into her room before the Macready caught her, when she happened to see what had made her stumble in the first place, just out of the corner of her eye. And any thoughts of running to her room were cut at their very beginning, because she would recognize those dark blue rabbit-shaped slippers _anywhere_.

She had, after all, been the one who had given them as a gift to her sister not even a full year ago, her parents having bought them two sizes bigger than Ed's feet so she would be able to "enjoy them for a long while". Even as Edmée had turned grumpy and mean, she had never used anything but _those_ slippers to walk around on her pyjamas, choosing to go barefoot while they were being washed or drying out in the sun.

She had seen those same slippers on Edmée's feet not a few non-Narnian hours ago, when Peter had forced Ed to apologize again to her.

Lucy knew, she _knew_ that if Ed had been somewhere around–and she would have _had_ to be, because her slippers were _right there_ and Ed would sleep with them on if Peter or Susan had let her–, her sister would have already been laughing at her. But her sister was nowhere around, her slippers where _there_ and a pair of the old boots that had stayed by the last coats were missing. Which, Lucy just knew, meant that her sister had gone into Narnia too.

Before her happiness could overcome her, though, she remembered Mr Tumnus' warnings, and how the White Witch was tightening the search around Lantern Waste.

And Edmée _didn't know about the Witch_. She didn't, for Lucy hadn't warned her, and fear grasped her heart as she realized that her sister was in Narnia, alone, with no idea of the danger she was in, probably looking for Lucy.

Peter and Susan, who had risen with the noise of their sister hitting the floor rather loudly in the otherwise strangely silent night–Peter already mostly up, waiting for Ed–, came upon the room to see their littlest sister trying her best to open the wardrobe again, a fearful look fixed on her face.

"Lu?"

She did not hear them, trying as she was to open the door that had closed so suddenly, almost burning with her determination to go back for her sister. Peter, finally getting that Lucy would not answer until the damned wardrobe was open, moved to help her, his hand with Lucy's as they tried to open the door to no avail.

"What–? Lu! What's so–important?" said Peter, as he found he could nor remove his hand from the doorknob nor _move_ the doorknob itself.

"Edmée!" screamed Lucy, as Susan got closer, not sure if she was hearing nearing steps or if it was just her imagination. "Edmée is _there_ , and she's in danger!"

Peter and Susan shared a concerned glance, and Susan moved to help with the doorknob, the steps now definitely not her imagination, getting closer by the minute.

"Hush, then, and let's go! The Macready is coming!"

When Susan touched the doorknob, the three siblings were finally able to open the door, and Susan followed Lucy, rather bewildered, as Peter stayed back a little to watch if the Macready would come into the room.

He saw the doorknob of the spare room start to turn, and instantly moved further back into the wardrobe, pushing Susan and Lucy also further in, not that Lucy needed any encouragement.

Mere seconds later, Lucy stood by one side as Peter and Susan stumbled into the snow, a part of her revelling on the look on her siblings' faces even as another part of her kept telling her to _go look for Ed right now_.

 _It will be okay,_ she told herself. _Peter and Susan are here, so now finding Ed will be easy. I'm sure that she found Mr Tumnus, anyway..._

Her fear was thus mostly quenched, and she delighted herself in Peter and Susan's apology, allowing herself to start a brief snowball war before they calmed down again and Susan proposed to leave.

"But we can't!" protested Lucy. "Edmée is here, somewhere, and she doesn't know about the White Witch! She could be in danger!"

Peter turned pale at that, his eyes focusing on the woods as if his stare alone would call Ed to them, while Susan hugged herself and trembled, as Lucy saw by her face, not only due to the cold air.

"Lu?" asked her sister, her eyes saying everything else, like _Do you know how could we find her_ and _Would someone here help her_ to _What kind of danger are we talking about_. Lucy answered with a determined stare, and turned to the woodlands.

"I'm sure Mr Tumnus will know something. Ed might even be with him. We should go there now."

"Well, then, just let me get us some coats" said Peter, getting some of the coats from the wardrobe.

"Peter!" cried Susan.

"Oh, come on. If you think about it, we're not even taking them out of the wardrobe..."

* * *

When they reached the faun's house, it had been trashed thoroughly, and the only clue as to their sister's whereabouts was a torn grey coat, one of the ones from the wardrobe, as Susan identified.

They all feared the worst, when a Robing drew their attention. And they didn't know it back then, but they would never go back to England, Spare Oom becoming nothing more than a vanishing memory.

 _ **A/N**_ : Ed and Tumnus are captives of the White Witch! (Yes, I know, nothing new) I always wondered... Hey. Come on. From Tumnus' example, and the Fox's, we get that some of Jadis' supposed minions are willing to do what's right once they're given some hope. And it annoyed me that the whole "some Trees are with her" thing didn't go anywhere in the movie, for it looked like they could make good spies. _Anyway_ , gals, here the action picks pace. Also, the song I hear whenever I think about the White Witch and Ed is _"Tag, You're It"_ by Melanie Martinez.


	5. Run for your Life

_**A/N**_ : I really don't know how this story keeps flowing like this. I've just finished my second day back at college and _I want holidays already_. I'm tired. But I have this chapter already being poured into my head, so here it is. Don't expect daily updates all the time though.

 _ **Lux Aeterna**_

 _ **5 – Run for your Life**_

 _Edmée was playing chess with Peter, enjoying his absolute attention for one blissful afternoon. They were both warm and comfy in their home, their mother and sisters out doing something Ed couldn't be bothered to remember. She was wearing one of her thinner dresses to better endure the slightly-too-warm weather, half a mind in the game even as she kept getting distracted by her brother._

 _She wasn't sure if he knew, but he always made faces when he had to remake his whole strategy, cute ones when he barely stopped himself from pouting, even with puberty starting to make his angles sharper, less rounded. In a sense, he kept on being the Peter she always had known, but in another, he wasn't, not truly, not anymore (not in the same way). Edmée couldn't help but wonder if the same would happen to her, even as she took her brother's last Knight with her Bishop, endangering his King in one move._

 _There. He was frowning slightly, biting his lip as he tried his best to keep his frustration under wraps even as he was forced to rethink his strategy all over again, with the few pieces he had left. Edmée had been absolutely merciless with him during the game, a part of her wondering what had him so distracted that he hadn't noticed how she had aligned her Towers and Bishops and Queen to destroy his white King._

 _She took it on her next move, and stopped Peter from putting all the pieces back into their places again._

 _"Peter. Seriously, spit it out already."_

 _Her brother's lips parted, ready to shape his words, and he did speak, but it wasn't what she expected to hear–_ it wasn't how that conversation had gone on _–, nor was it Peter's voice, what came from those lips._

" _ **Bring me to Narnia, Edmée**_."

Her mind rebelled. No. _No._ It wasn't her memory and it wasn't a dream. _That monster was attacking her again._

She woke up, her eyes opening to the Witch's black ones, her cold hands cupping her face even as her fingers seemed to dive into her temples in a certainly painful way. Edmée wanted to scream, but the gag tied around her face prevented her even that piece of freedom. Edmée was back into the Witch's dungeons, for she had never truly left them, no matter what the monster's meddling with her mind made her think at times.

She could not tell how much time she had been the White Witch's prisoner, nor was she sure she ever _wanted_ to know. It seemed an eternity. It seemed an instant. Mr Tumnus was too badly hurt to help her, after trying to stop the Witch from hurting her several times. Jadis–for that was her name–had mercifully not fully lost her patience with him, for even if the faun could not even speak–having had his jaw broken that very first time–, merely having him nearby, living, was a comfort. Bound and gagged in a cold dungeon, having her mind pried open and her dearest memories carelessly invaded, comforts were few and very dear to her.

See, the Witch's abilities weren't limited to what she could do with her wand or her flask of magical blue liquid–her very own blood, had a doe told her before being turned into stone the next morning–, as Edmée had had the misfortune of finding out first hand.

After all, the Witch had cursed her.

Her mind would stay together and mostly repair itself from the "Queen's" interrogations, torn or twisted memories going back to how they used to be, in exchange of never sleeping (every time she had tried the Witch had made sure to wake her up in the most painful ways). This, over all, was what convinced the more rational part of Ed's mind that she couldn't have been in the Witch's power for more than a week, as she had been unable to sleep at all since the Witch caught her and Mr Tumnus on Lantern Waste, knowing even as her body, mind and soul were exhausted that she had not gone mental, so _there was that_.

As she grew more and more fatigued, keeping the Witch from reaching whatever she was looking for in her mind–it had to do with her siblings and Peter in particular, that much Ed knew–became harder, and thus Ed allowed herself a small respite in knowing that _Mr Tumnus_ hadn't known _where_ Aslan's camp (if, indeed, Aslan had returned) was, for that way _she_ didn't either. She guessed that he was the lucky one, as the Witch couldn't use her mind-related powers at length except in humans, for it killed hybrids and Talking Beasts and Trees instantly, and it seemed that the Witch was stubborn, steadfast in her belief that the faun would break under her methods, the last one being, of course, hurting Edmée in front of him.

But then, Edmée was stubborn too, and so she kept refusing the Witch's commands, her attempts to twist her mind and make her lead her siblings to _her_ , even as it got her more and more pain, more and more coldness, until she felt like her blood would freeze in her veins, everything ending just like that.

* * *

Her salvation came when the Witch decided to drag Edmée with her, hands tied and mouth still gagged, but legs free to be able to run after the sledge to which her hands were tied, the shortness of the rope dragging her into a frenetic race, which wasn't at all good for her exhausted body. It also had its benefits, though, for the sledge's steel-like bow was sharp enough to cut, and Edmée took full profit of this.

 _"Once she takes you away from here,"_ had said the Fox–another double agent, who was passing by the prison to take the daily frozen water and stale bread to the prisoners–, _"you must do everything in your power to run away. Get to Aslan's camp... I won't tell you where it is, for I'm sure the Lion will guide you on your way. It's the only way you'll be able to help us against the White Witch! Get to Aslan, you Majesty."_

The sharp bow had cut through most of the rope (and some of her skin, too), and yet Edmée kept running behind the sledge for a while, her tired eyes now fully alert for any chance of escaping. She knew it had to be something quick, for the Witch's army was not too far behind, so she didn't let herself think about it too much, and threw herself from the first cliff she saw, listening to the water of the river below running fast. She knew the fox had told her to get to Aslan, but at the point she found herself at, even death was better than giving the Witch more time to break her, knowing she was already dangerously close to succumbing into her commands.

And so, Edmée jumped.

The Witch, having known of her plans to escape well before the girl could have put them in action, merely smiled, signalling her troops not to follow the runaway girl. _If Edmée Pevensie believed she had gotten away from me_ , the Witch thought to herself, _she's in for a rude awakening_.

"You'll come back to me, _Daughter of Eve_. And your siblings will follow you."

For the Witch had cursed the girl.

Edmée's own mind would bring death to her and her siblings.

 _ **A/N**_ : Short chapter, again, but it felt right this way.


	6. The Curse (Save Me)

_**A/N**_ : Oh today... Today was an awful mess with failing timetables. It seems that I write more when I actually just want to go to sleep. And Angst warnings. _So many angst warnings_. Also, some rather gruesome descriptions, so beware. Skip most of the cursive text? I'll try to keep it contained at the very least, condensed in one chapter. I love Ed too much to prolong this through more chapters.

 _ **Lux Aeterna**_

 _ **6 – The Curse (Save Me)**_

The girl would have drowned if one of the naiads, recently free of her prison of ice due to the weakening of the Witch's powers, hadn't taken pity on her and brought her lip form from the frozen, rapid waters of the river, into one of its shores.

The naiad pushed against the girl's chest, swiftly kissing her lips, before backtracking, lost again between the waters of the unfrozen river, as Edmée Pevensie turned on her side and started vomiting water and bile until there was nothing left, gagging even as her body started to realize that she could actually _breathe_ again. Her vision danced, and for several minutes she could only see white spots on a black background, her head dizzy and her _everything_ hurting, the still cold air worsening her situation.

But then the trees took shape before her eyes, and the colours returned. Her wrists were rather raw, but she had been lucky, because the steel bow hadn't cut her beyond superficially. Her head still felt as if someone was hitting her with a hammer, and her legs didn't feel like they could carry her own weight, but Ed nonetheless grinded her teeth and started crawling away from the river. She didn't know how, or why, but she had survived the fall, as much as it had hurt to hit the water from such a height, so she would do her best to reach Aslan, wherever he might be. She didn't know how she would be able to help, if at all, but if the Lion could stop the Witch from killing her siblings, she would go to him. Merely being present didn't seem like a hard job, not that she could have done anything more than that in her state.

It had been three days. Edmée was certain now, even if she didn't know why. She had been in the Witch's power three days and three nights, with the morning of the fourth. And during all that time, she hadn't eaten anything. She had drunk something, yes, a strange beverage the Witch had forced down her throat when she had been about to die from hypothermia, but beyond that, nothing. She had known the feeling of being slightly hungry at all times, yes, from the rationings, but never in her life had she actually gone three days without eating something, and it showed, for her head hurt and the dizziness wouldn't go away, while her body felt starved and barely able to move. Crawling away from the river seemed like a herculean effort, and many times she pondered why she was even bothering, when it would be easier to just lie down and die, end it all, end the pain and the coldness, the unbearable hunger. But then she thought about _Peter_ , or _Susan_ , or _Lucy_... Her parents were blurry figures in the distance, but she thought about them too.

 _She had to see them again_. If only once, if only from afar. She would like to see Lucy and apologize for being a mean idiot to her. To see Susan and hug her for the first time in almost a year, let herself enjoy the slightly strawberry scent that lingered in her hair from her shampoo and the warmness of her elder sister's arms. To see _Peter_ and let herself be swallowed in a hug, to hide her face in his neck as she hadn't done since the night she learned about their father's call to the front. To let him rock her back and forth as he kissed her temple and muttered reassurances against her hair, safe from the world and its torments in his arms. He wouldn't have let anything touch her, or at least, the Peter _from a year ago_ wouldn't have. She liked to think that even as she had distanced herself from him, even as she started cutting back their closeness, he still loved her. That maybe he missed her as much as she missed him. All of them, really.

It was silly. _It was silly_. But she held on. She held on and hours later she allowed herself to sleep against a bush, unable to move again. The air was getting warmer, and she hadn't slept for days, so she finally succumbed to sleep.

.

Far away, on the other side of the river, the Witch murmured to herself one word, the one that would truly start the curse she had put on the silly girl who maybe thought herself safe now.

" _ **Rise.**_ "

* * *

 _There was a sharp pain on her chest. Pain, and coldness._

 _Opening her eyes was a struggle, for the darkness wanted to keep her forever in its hold, but even then she persisted._

 _There was a strangely ornate thing protruding from her chest, right on her sternum. It was cold, and yet red-hot in her flesh. The realest part of her, and yet the most ethereal. It was black, with silver decorations. Like the handle of an ornate knife._

 _A knife?_

 _A dagger?_

 _A small sword?_

 _ **Oh...**_ _Yes, it was a dagger. A very long dagger, which for some reason had been forcibly introduced in her chest, the iron not running straight through her flesh, but rather slightly deviated towards her left side, going right through her heart in the process._

 _She expected it to hurt, and it did, but the darkness was quickly setting in. After all, the dagger had gone through one of her lungs as well, and Edmée realized then that she had been choking on her own blood. Her coughs moved the dagger, her mind unable to make sense of the contradictory feelings it caused her. A part of her thought that she would surely die, but that it would be a long death, unless..._

 _A hand with the whitest skin Edmée had ever seen grabbed the dagger's handle then, pulling it out of her in a smooth gesture even as the dagger was twisted upwards in a circle, slowly and gracefully, as if wanting to enjoy every second of the girl's suddenly rushed death._

 _"Thusly dies the traitorous maiden..."_

 _Traitor? Edmée was no traitor, but even as she opened her lips to rebate such claims, the cold and the darkness rushed to her as her blood rushed out of her body, as her coughs tainted her lips red._

 _"Do not fear, my dearest girl... Your siblings will soon follow. After all, you led me to them..."_

 _'I did no such thing!' Edmée wanted to say. But it was a vain effort. The White Witch already knew that._

 _"They'll believe you did. And so you_ _ **are**_ _. Now die, child. Let go..."_

* * *

A girl, in a fairly awful state, reached Aslan's camp.

She didn't seem to hear nor see anything, moving fixedly as if there was nothing else in the world toward Aslan's own tent.

Lucy–who had been learning some first aid tips from the camp's healer–was the first one to see her enter the camp (the guards seemed unable to move against the girl), in all the unnerving intensity of her sightless brown eyes, skin paler than ever, bruises marking her face and neck in a strange and contrasting blue-green pattern, clothes so torn that they barely managed to keep her modesty (not that there was anything particularly attractive in her starved figure), bleeding feet leaving red imprints on the floor at her passing, hair down to her shoulders, looking for all the world to see as one of the refugees of that awful war back in England. And, even so, obviously, _irrefutably_ , her lost sister. Edmée.

The little girl dropped the bandages she had been learning to wrap around an amused faun's torso, hastily getting on her feet and running to her sister, when Edmée's sightless eyes turned to her, and Lucy froze in place, the darkness in her sister's eyes like a bottomless nothingness that would surely devour her if she got any closer. So the young girl gasped, and stopped approaching the brunette, who kept on her path, eyes again fixed somewhere around Aslan's tent.

Once she was mere meters from it, Aslan himself came out to meet her. One look at her was enough, and with his head he signalled her inside his tent, going back inside after her.

Lucy felt able to move again then, but dread cooled her veins, and when Susan, attracted by the ruckus Edmée had caused on her passing, came to her wondering what had happened, the youngest Pevensie hugged her sister and finally let her tears fall.

* * *

 _"The Witch will be here soon, Lion."_

 _"I know. As I know what you are."_

 _"Me? Oh, but who apart from the young Edmée could I ever be?"_

 _The Lion growled. "Do not think to trick me! I will speak with your so-called Queen. And_ _ **then**_ _I'll deal with you. Don't dare to approach the other three, or I swear on the Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea's name, I'll make you regret it."_

 _"Well then. My Mistress will be here soon. And I'll keep myself away from your monarchs... For now..."_

 _"The girl you're draining..."_

 _"I cannot stop myself from doing so. And I think now, you know what I'll do if you fail to please my Mistress..."_

 _"Don't approach her, either."_

* * *

 _"You've lead us all to our deaths, Eddie. Aren't you happy?"_

 _It was Peter. Blood-drenched, half-mauled Peter, whose hands were even then still reaching for her, who had barely managed to climb up a tree to escape him. A grotesque smile was fixed on his lips, blue and rotting as they were, for his corpse was already half-rotten._

 _"You wanted us all dead, did you not, sis? Away, unable to make you vulnerable?" Susan was soon by Peter's side, in even worse condition, for the wolves had caught her unawares and enjoyed their meal. She was little more than a skeleton, only her head left intact, as if to make the whole scene crueller, for Edmée could not deny that the face staring up to her was her elder sister's._

 _"You wanted to be left alone, didn't you? Are you not happy now? I will never annoy you again..." And Lucy,_ _ **oh**_ _, Lucy was there too, a jagged cut on her throat, blood rotten and coagulated and yet still falling from the cut, by far the most whole of the triad under her tree, and yet in her own way as gruesome as the other two. Her dress was still mostly untainted, her rotting body and the mess on her neck the only things breaking the perfect image of what once was Lucy Pevensie._

 _"_ _ **NO! I NEVER WANTED THIS! NEVER THIS!**_ _"_

 _It did not matter how many times Edmée cried this, screamed it for everyone to hear, even as her throat felt raw and she could almost taste her own blood in her mouth, otherwise as dry as a desert. Peter, Susan and Lucy repeated themselves over and over again, drowning her voice within theirs, and she could not stop looking at them even as her whole being wished she could, their ghastly figures burning themselves on her mind._

 _All she could do was hold onto the tree, her refuge, even as her mind started to unravel. But then, the bark under her hands turned into skin. Human, rotting, blood-drenched skin. Edmée could not keep herself pressed against it, and thus she fell, between Peter, and Susan, and Lucy. The tree had vanished then, only her and her siblings remaining._

 _But then she could not think of anything beyond the sheer agony she was feeling, for her siblings tore her apart with their very own, very rotten, and yet very strong hands._

* * *

Nor Peter nor Susan understood why Aslan had insisted on keeping Edmée away from them. Lucy didn't, either, but she alone dared not say anything about it, for her sister's hollow stare was still burning behind her eyes.

They were all grateful for Edmée not being around, though, when the White Witch–to whom all of them knew their sister had been prisoner until not too long ago–barged into Aslan's camp, sitting on a throne of sorts, carried by several of her minions, only to exclaim that there was someone between them, _a Daughter of Eve_ , that rightfully belonged to her, so her blood could be spilled on the Stone Table.

Peter, at hearing that the woman wanted to quite literally sacrifice Edmée, wanted to attack her right then and there, blue eyes darkened by a fury Susan had only seen once before: at that fateful party at the Perrys'... when Darcy had quietly complained to them about her incredibly creepy cousin, and his obsessive tendency to touch little girls inappropriately, happily saying that she had seemingly grown beyond his tastes, just before Mark came back from the snacks table, commenting casually how their sister, or as he had called her, " _that annoying little pest your parents made you bring to my party_ " had vanished. Peter had punched him right then, while Susan had instantly started to look around, barely managing to ask Darcy where had her cousin been before Peter took off in a mad search for their sister, Susan deciding to go upstairs seeing as he was going towards the backyard, to cover more ground. Obviously, the friendship between Peter and Mark had cooled a lot after that "incident", but Susan had tried her best to keep herself composed, to show herself as a strong pillar Edmée could trust in, go to.

(It had hurt, when Edmée chose Peter)

Seeing Peter angry like that again perturbed her more than she could have ever foreseen. Nonetheless, and knowing that attacking the Witch could prove disastrous right then, she managed to put herself together enough to grab Peter's arm and stop him from doing something that could get him killed.

Aslan talked to the Witch in his tent, and Susan almost wanted to barge in, learn what exactly was being decided, for she knew her sister's life was at stake, and as much as she wanted to trust the Lion... Well. He was a _lion_. A lion who had been keeping her sister isolated in a tent at the edges of the camp, well away from them all. That didn't exactly inspire confidence in his interest for her sister's wellbeing.

Nonetheless, her steadiness and self-control was rewarded when the Lion came back out, with the Witch, announcing that the monster had renounced to her claim over Edmée.

She did not care to think too much about the promise the Witch mentioned before the Lion scared her away, for she was too lost in the knowledge that her sister would be safe from that awful woman. As long as Edmée wouldn't be sacrificed in some sort of bizarre ritual for whatever she could have done to be considered a possession of the Witch, everything could be sorted out. Of this, at least, Susan was certain.

* * *

Susan and Lucy followed the Lion for as long as he let them, staying to witness his sacrifice as he walked toward the Witch and the Stone Table. The dagger descended mercilessly.

The Lion died.

* * *

She felt cold, and raw, and utterly _vulnerable_. She did not know where she was, or what had brought her there, or what had made her mind, body and soul hurt _so very much_ , for she could not even muster the strength to open her eyes. Or move, in general. Breathing, her heart beating, was already almost too much.

Her ears were ringing, and mind was still dizzy. Even so, she thought she could hear a lion singing in the distance, the sound reaching her soul and banishing the cold and the darkness away.

Her lips parted and from them, a dark blue miasma seemed to slip out.

(The nightmares that had been feeding off her stopped then)

The girl, at long last, awoke.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in Aslan's camp, the being many had taken as " _Edmée_ " melted back into a dark blue miasma.

 _ **A/N**_ : Okay, so, I feel I should say... Aslan will probably explain what was going on with Ed next chapter. But, for now, it would be interesting to see if you reach the true conclusion from the clues I've left behind here? I've gone back and edited this chapter and all its predecessors, for I've caught many misspellings and style failures. The story hasn't changed, though.


	7. My Love (Don't Leave Me)

_**A/N**_ : First of all, I want to thank all my 5 reviewers. You're awesome and have given me an extra push to write this sooner. Secondly, hey, so the angst isn't over yet. But then, we all know how the Battle of Beruna goes, don't we? This chapter was influenced by Sentimental Star and Sara Wolfe's amazing CoN fics. _Btw_ , I went back and edited the past chapters for misspellings and style enhancements. There are no changes to the story, though, so don't worry. Also, WOAH. Longest chapter on LA to date!

 _ **Lux Aeterna**_

 _ **7 – My Love (Don't Leave Me)**_

She was riding a horse.

For her life, Edmée couldn't have guessed how she had managed to get on the horse, or where said horse had even come from, her everything still too raw to ponder these questions as she would have liked to.

When she felt able to look beyond the horse's chestnut coat, she realized that she was far from the bush she had fallen asleep at, what seemed like a military camp of old in the near distance.

The horse was going at a full gallop, and she feared that she would fall, but she had been tied in place to him by long, plaited vines, which she noticed when she tried to raise her body a little, so in the end, too fatigued to do anything else, Edmée let herself cuddle–as much as one could cuddle with a horse–into the warmth, not knowing where she was going or how had she been tied to the horse, too thankful for the end of her nightmares to truly worry about it.

"Thank you," she murmured into the horse's mane, not expecting an answer, for she had not yet seen any Talking Horses. So when the horse actually talked, she felt glad again for being tied to it and thus unable to stumble off.

"You're welcome, your Majesty."

She smiled against his coat, heart warm, peace filling her to her toes as they got closer and closer to the camp.

"My dearest Horse, do you have a name I could call you by?"

"Philip, your Majesty."

 _Friend of horses_ , uh? Oh, the _ways_ she would tease him once her mind was more up to the task...

"Well, Philip, I'm Edmée Pevensie. Although I think you knew that already."

If a horse could sound amused, Philip surely did. "Indeed, your Majesty."

"Just Edmée is okay, Philip. By the way, where are we going?"

The horse was definitely about to laugh at her, she _knew it_.

" _Just Edmée_ then. And we're going to Aslan's camp."

 _Am I missing some kind of pun?_

"Oh..."

She didn't have time to say anything else, for Philip had already carried them into the camp, the guards letting him pass even as they looked at her with confusion written in their faces.

The whole camp seemed ready to go to war, finishing touches here and there, and Edmée couldn't help but wonder how many of them would return, for the only enemy they could be about to fight had to be the Witch. And Edmée, more than most, knew what Jadis was capable of.

Philip took them all the way up to where a majestic tent was raised, a centaur helping a young teen to finish his strategy, a board in front of them. Edmée could not truly believe her eyes, but the blonde man seemed to be, indeed, none other than Peter.

He looked up at her, maybe attracted by the whispers and the uneasiness of the camp, maybe by the fact that Philip had made sure to make noise with his hooves as they approached them. Whatever it may have been, his tired, wary gaze reached hers, steely blue on warm chocolate, and for the very first time Edmée wished she hadn't been tied to Philip, for there was nothing she wanted more than to go to Peter right then and there.

For several minutes, they could do little more than just stare at each other, as if taking into account every single change in the other since their separation.

It had been weird, after all, for Peter had been watching her all the time–except when she went to the bathroom–before she had followed Lucy into the wardrobe. Three days seemed a mere instant, when compared to the times they had been separated before, while on their respective boarding schools, yet they also seemed and eternity, for so many intense things had happened this time around. Three days, and they had never been as close to losing each other.

Peter seemed rather exhausted, face paler than she was used to see–for her dearest brother had always been on the more tanned side of whiteness–, slight bags under his eyes delating how little sleep he had been getting, his eyes rimmed with red as if he had been crying no long ago. His blue irises seemed to get bluer and bluer by the minute, the dullness that had greeted her at the start banishing as the light she was so used to see in him returned to them. He was wearing heavy armour, his helmet lying by the board, a sword by his side. The redness of his tunic contrasted nicely with his golden hair, a lion on his chest as the tunic's only decoration, as golden as the lower edges of his tunic and some parts of his armour.

Edmée, though, knew that _she_ wasn't a nice sight, the deep blue short dress the Witch had put her in–as another way to mock her, after taking from her mind how uncomfortable it made her, to look like a girl in front of people she didn't trust, as if _she_ hadn't already violated her enough–marred both by her blood, her adventurous fall, her crawl through the forest floor and the vines that held her tight against the horse, caked in mud and leaves, bare feet still bleeding (they were superficial cuts, mostly thanks to the cold ground during her race after the Witch's sledge) and surely seeming to be in way worse shape than they actually were, shoulder-length hair a tangled mess of leaves and dirt, making her pale skin seem even paler, her cut lip a red mark on her face, the only spot of colour on her apart from the blue-green bruises along her left cheek, chin and neck.

She couldn't see it, but her eyes were lightning up too, her unspilt tears catching the light, making her chocolate eyes seem even brighter as she took in her brother's presence, so close to her.

"Peter!" screamed her at least, calling him to her as she had wanted to do for so long already, tears falling then from her eyes, hands trapped by the vines as the rest of her body, even as her whole demeanour managed to project her desperate _need_ to hug him.

His lips parted with a long, surprised gasp, almost as if he had just received a wonderful gift without previous announcement and no obvious motive, the joy in his face battling with the world-shacking _fury_ that rose in him as he took in his sister's injuries. But then he was moving, everything banishing into the background until the only thing he could think about was to free Ed and keep her safe forever in his arms.

 _I'm never letting you go again._

The vines were no match for Rhindon, as Peter cut them all and promptly dragged Edmée from her horse, sword still held in his right hand while he hugged her as tightly against his chest as he dared, dropping kisses on her hair, and her forehead, and mostly everywhere he was able to reach.

His sister had returned to him, and he _wouldn't_ lose her again.

(He would regret tempting Fate in such a way)

* * *

Several hours before Edmée and Philip reached Aslan's camp, Peter was woken at dawn to train some more with Rhindon, under the strict guidance of the Centaur General Oreius. They had received news that the Witch's army would reach the fords of Beruna by early midday, so there wouldn't be much time to get ready–especially once they received Susan and Lucy's message, announcing Aslan's death.

That alone had already weighted on Peter, the next message only cementing his dark, desolated mood.

"King Peter..." the faun that had approached him as his sword practise with Oreius finished had seemed rather grim, immediately alerting Peter of the bad news he would bring him. "Your sister, Edmée... She has banished, your Majesty."

He blinked, for several seconds wondering what would have brought someone to break Aslan's orders regarding Edmée–for no one was to approach her tent, at all, Aslan being the only exception–, when his mind finally understood what he had just been told. A sharp pain went through his chest, as he started running towards the lonely tent at the camp's most distant edge, ignoring his tired body's protests.

The tent had been blown away, no clues left behind, and he found it hard to breathe as the pain in his chest sharpened.

General Oreius and the faun– _Vauglis_ –had followed him, and so when Peter said nothing, the faun kept on with his news.

"Reports say that a great dark blue mist blew the tent off, and some of the more magic-knowing folk have mentioned that the being we all took as Lady Edmée was, in fact, not human at all. Some of the oldest fauns have seen this before, sire. They call it _homunculus_ , a magical creation made of snow and a drop of the Witch's blood, that resembles the victim who is to be punished, by feeding off them to keep their form, and using their similitude to the victim to approach their loved ones without them being on their guard. The _homunculus_ usually kills the victim's loved ones while they're sleeping, before draining the main victim completely, leaving only an empty, comatose body behind. It's said that the Witch preferred this enchantment to deal with those who had offended her more remarkably than most, for it caused the most agony on her intended victim. She was usually unable to use it, though. Apparently the process to inflict the curse only works with humans, for they are one of the only races that don't die instantly when their minds are invaded..."

Vauglis tended to keep on talking when he was nervous, and he _was_ nervous then, so Oreius had to put his hand on his mouth to make him _stop talking_ , since the faun's determination to keep staring at the ground left him obvious to the centaur's warning looks. All during his little speech, Peter had become more and more stiff, muscles taunt like a bow about to be fired, his rage almost creating an aura around him.

Oreius knew that he had to deviate his king's attention least he do something as crazy as charge against the Witch right then, foregoing any kind of preparation.

"My king, the process seems to have come to an abrupt end. Aslan sacrificed himself to get the Witch to release your sister, did he not? Could that have broken the curse?" while saying this, Oreius sent a very sharp and very obvious look at Vauglis, shaking him up a little for good measure, as the faun finally seemed to catch up on their King's situation, nodding firmly to the centaur, who then released him, if keeping his hands close _just in case_ the faun needed to be silenced again, Peter remaining obvious to this by virtue of being several meters ahead of them both, his back to them as his eyes remained fixed on the tent.

"I-Indeed, your Majesty. Your sister, with all probability, woke up once her snowy twin blew up. I... I am unsure as to her current estate, but she may yet live and recover. Surely, once the Witch is defeated, parties will be sent to look for her..."

Peter's rage was thus moderately subdued, getting back under his skin and coiling around his heart, waiting for the moment he knew, _knew_ he would confront the Witch, red-hot rage cooling, sharpening, once it had a clear objective.

He didn't know how, nor did he care, but the White Witch would _die_ , one way or another.

 _That much I can swear to you, Ed._

* * *

Edmée was fussed over by the camp's healer, Shanza, Peter hovering not a meter away from her, merely turning around whenever the dryad told him to, the woman already resigned at not getting the king away from his sister, even if only to let the healer check the girl in peace. Ed was then told to go eat something, once her wounds–none too grave, for the Witch had preferred psychological torture to the more physical one when it came to her–were dressed, and Edmée put on the light armour the healer gave her, for there was little else around to wear, the one Aslan had seemingly left prepared for her, a red tunic with a golden lion on the chest, with its fitting chain mail and chain leggings, just as Peter's.

She felt rather weak, but as Shanza had informed her, that had more to do with her "snow twin"–as many had started calling the false Edmée that had appeared in the camp two days before–feeding off her than any actually physical wound, whatever _that_ meant. Edmée knew the healer had kept her descriptions rather short, probably censoring many things, but when she had looked over at Peter, it hadn't been hard to guess why. She didn't care, for there would be time for that after the battle, and she was sure that the healer wouldn't have kept her tongue if whatever she hadn't said had been urgent. Also, she was more focused on other matters.

After all, Peter kept trying to make her stay at the camp while he went with Aslan's army to fight the Witch, and she was having none of that.

* * *

In the end, they reached a compromise. Edmée wouldn't be in the front lines with Peter (something that clearly displeased her), but she _would_ be in the rearguard, leading their air attacks (something that clearly displeased Peter, who still had wanted her to stay at the camp). Neither had gotten what they had actually wanted, but at least they would be somewhat close to each other, and Edmée would be relatively away from danger.

So they ate a late breakfast, happily teasing each other's eagerness while eating the sausages one of the dryads had brought them, enjoying merely being in each other's company, even if Susan and Lucy weren't around. After all, Peter and Ed had always been at their best while together.

* * *

Even as she had promised to her brother that she would remain in the rearguard, Ed had known that if Peter was in danger, she would break said promise in a heartbeat, even if she could only save him by becoming a living shield. So when she saw the Witch move towards her brother, whose back was to her–busy as he was with two opponents in front of him–Ed didn't bother to think much about it.

She ran to the Witch that had tortured her, the one who had planned to take everything from her, her only weapon the sword Oreius had given her to better direct the air attacks.

A part of her already knew how things would end, but her body remained steady. It didn't matter. As long as her siblings were safe, she would be happy. If all she could do was make it harder for the Witch to destroy them, _so be it_.

Jadis was advancing, sword and wand at the ready, so Edmée jumped, intending to break the wand right then and there. She was silent, lips tightly shut as she moved, her mind still a jagged mess of broken glass, her body still weaker than ever, wanting to just shut down–emotion that became stronger as she got closer to the Witch, as if her instincts recognized her nearing death–but Edmée kept on. She had always put her mind over her instincts, tried her best to follow her own moral code rather than trusting her gut to tell her if something was right or wrong. Instincts should complement a rational mindset, not direct it, after all. So instincts, in this case, went ignored.

Her sword swung true, and everything else seemed to happen too slowly and too hastily at the same time.

As her sword met the Witch's wand, her objective broke and exploded in a sphere of dark blue mist that caught many of the fighters' attention. Edmée could not bother to look _whose_ , for her eyes had met the Witch's, and now instead of black her eyes were a sickly dark yellowy-green, her expression no less recognizable, as she expertly maneuvered Ed's sword away from her now numb hands, body finally catching up on her exhaustion as the girl belatedly remembered that she wasn't supposed to do anything overly exacting.

 _Oh, well_ , she thought _, here my story ends, does it not?_

The last thing Ed saw were those inhuman, hateful eyes, and the Witch's glee–as she pierced her body with the jagged remaining part of the wand, driving it inside until her spine broke–reflected in those eyes of hers. She thought she heard someone calling her, but the darkness and the pain swallowed her as her body fell to the ground, like a puppet whose strings had been abruptly cut. In the darkened mist of her approaching death, Edmée realized that she could not feel her legs.

* * *

There was something delicious on her tongue, something that seemed to flow into her body, keeping her mind, her _soul_ , connected with her body when they had been a mere second apart, her heart beating again, her brain interrupting its death as it received new blood again, as that warmness spread from her head to her toes, cells being renewed, spine rightening, sound that was masked with a cough as her body, for the second time that week, realized it could breathe again.

Everything still hurt, but it was more in a phantom way, the mind remembering the places that had been harmed and having a hard time in letting that feeling go, unsure as to how such a quick healing process had been made.

It didn't matter.

Someone laughed, someone gasped merrily, and someone let out a choked sob.

Edmée Pevensie opened her eyes, briefly seeing Lucy at her right, looking up to see Susan, and then... Peter hugged her. She smiled, taking in his familiar scent, the one she had gotten used to correlate to safety and comfort, even as she knew she would be throwing him into a river soon, once the slight scent of his sweat became uncomfortable. It was curious, Peter, for he was one of the few people in her life she didn't mind getting hugs from, even if like at that very moment, they were kid of sweaty.

In her daze at, well, _not being dead_ , she could have kept on thinking about Peter and every single one of his quirks, physical or otherwise, but then Peter stopped their hug long enough to look at her, his eyes almost teary, a relieved smile trembling on his lips.

" _When are you gonna learn to do as you're told?_ " he said, as when he used to scold her for running too far ahead in the street, his relieved laugh– _hidden but not_ within his words–taking out any sting to the mock-scolding.

Edmée was happy, though. Too happy to care, too happy to bother fussing about it. A quick visual check-up showed that Peter wasn't grievously hurt, and for the moment, that was enough to make a genuine smile curve her lips, as her brother kept on clinging to her, his arms keeping her up and close to him, as Susan's steady hand on her back helped to keep her straight.

Lucy was the first one to hug her again, Peter and Susan following swiftly, and Edmée enjoyed their warmness until she saw _him_ , over her siblings' arms, and her body rose further to see him better. Her siblings took note that something had attracted her attention, and so the marvellous hug ended, as everyone turned to see the Lion Edmée had heard so many things about. The Lion that, if rumours held true, had _died_ to break the Witch's curse on her.

He did not speak, golden, magnificent eyes taking them in with so much love held within Edmée didn't know exactly how to react, before turning to the statue of a faun, one of the many that had fallen under the Witch's wand before Ed had broken it, and once he _breathed_ into it, the statue turned back into the faun it had been, as if the breath had softened the stone back into flesh, before those golden eyes were back on them, merely nodding to Lucy, a signal Edmée would later recognize as Aslan telling her to use her Cordial on the remaining wounded.

And still sitting there on the ground, her elder siblings by her side, Edmée watched as her sister started doing one of the things that would define her many centuries later, in stories and songs: letting one drop of her self-replenishing cordial into the wounded's mouths, leaving healthy previously-dying sentients on her wake.

* * *

Thusly had the Prophecy of the Four Monarchs been told to ( _the then Princess_ ) Edmée by the faun Tumnus:

 _Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,_

 _At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more,_

 _When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death,_

 _And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again._

 _When Adam's flesh and Adam's bone,_

 _Sit at Cair Paravel in throne,_

 _The evil time will be over and done._

As the girl turned back to see Aslan again, she **knew** , the prophecy had held true.

 _ **A/N**_ : You'll notice I'll use some things from the combined lore of the CoN fanon, established in some ways by, just to name a few, Sentimental Star, elecktrum, Lirenel, Sara Wolfe, and so many others, all amazing authors with marvellous stories I recommend you all, for they are a delightful read (although beware the angsty ones, try to keep Kleenex or something around while you read them). I do this because more or less all of them were the ones that inspired me to bother writing a fic for this fandom, as silent as it seems to be, almost seven years after the first movie. I'm sure references would slip through even if I tried not to, so I'll try to credit them all, as much as possible, because all of them are amazing and deserve as much love as a fic writer can get. Really, long A/N, but I needed to tell you: Thank you for sharing all your amazing stories. Also, I prefer to post on AO3 because there I can link to the stories that inspired me (I still have so many to put there though...) and AO3 respects more my formatting.


	8. The Start of an Era

_**A/N**_ : Thanks so much to all my readers (and reviewers)! You all make me happy, writing this at a pace that still astounds me. Really, _thank you_. I promise, I'll edit any typo I find!

 _ **Lux Aeterna**_

 _ **8 – The Start of an Era**_

Edmée was wearing regal clothes that resembled more closely Peter's than her sisters', and she stared at her reflection in the full-body mirror, wondering exactly how many things Aslan knew about her.

No one had tried to put make-up on, nor did anyone try to do anything beyond brushing her hair until it was tangleless and smooth, like a wavy dark halo framing her face all the way to her shoulders, greatly contrasting her white cape and, more generally, her _everything_ , for her coronation clothes where all in different shades of a strange, bluish-silver-and-grey except for her dark boots, and the lighter silver belt at her waist, giving shape to the otherwise rather cylindrical tunic.

Silver could look quite like white with the proper light, and for a second or two she allowed herself to imagine that she was in fact wearing a dress, a _wedding gown_ –not that it took too much to imagine a tunic as a dress–, about to marry. Her smile lasted all of a minute before she remembered the dress the Witch had forced on her, after tearing her clothes right there in the middle of her dungeons, her modesty only preserved because all the other prisoners–just Mr Tumnus and a Talking Cat, really–had closed their eyes, unable to turn their backs to her, bound as they were. Ginarrbrik, one of the Black Dwarfs at the Witch's service, had made no such gestures, and with the memory of their piercing stares, both his and Jadis', Edmée's brief joy at the idea of wearing such a dress fell in tatters.

And maybe her tears would have fallen too–for they had become rather annoyingly common lately–, if Aslan hadn't appeared then in the room, sure in his paws as he closed the door behind him, but strangely Edmée could only feel peace and safety around him, so the gesture did not make her uncomfortable. Also, he was a _Lion_.

The Lion's golden eyes–those eyes that seemed to hold all the Love in the world and more, incomprehensibly directed to her many times since she had first seen Him–were fixed on her, the Love surrounded by sorrow, and it pained her to think that anything could have saddened him, for he was like the most glorious sun, his light always disrupting the shadows that seemed to want to cling to her and tear her to pieces, to pull her back into the nightmares that had so tormented her for a whole day, as she had learned from Philip and Elpis–one of the dryads that had found her and secured her on the Horse's back–certain things she now wished she had kept not knowing.

"Aslan...? Is something wrong?"

"Oh, my dearest child. Fate's trials have indeed cut deep in you..."

 _She? She_ was the cause of his sadness? Oh, now Edmée really wanted to weep. Was she destined to disturb even the brightest sunrise? Had the Witch tainted her so much? She had been holding herself up, high on the utter _delight_ of being back with Peter, and Susan, and Lucy, _not dead_ , _safe_ , not truly having had any moment to ponder her time under the Witch's power, and what she had had to endure.

The curse had been explained to her. In _detail_ , thanks to Lucy distracting Peter long enough for Shanza to tell her. It seemed that the Witch had only been able to use it with Telmarines, or Carlomen, usually when they came in parties, decided to hunt the Witch herself, as if she was nothing but an overly exotic quarry. The fools had certainly payed for their particular brand of stupidity, and the Witch had delighted in making the whole affair _very public_ , for she rarely got to use the curse that seemed to be one of her favourites, traumatizing many and yet killing none, set as she was in perpetuating the height of her powers in the mind of all Narnians, her "feats" winning her the loyalty of the Black Dwarfs.

And even if she _hadn't wanted to_ , her mind had already figured out the way the Witch may have made her drink her blood by the time she could form the thought, _that_ humiliating scene coming back into focus, as the "Queen" forced a hot drink down her throat, not caring if most of it overflowed from Ed's mouth, falling in rivulets down her throat and her robe, before Jadis proceeded to invade her mind for the very first time, her shameful clothing change coming soon after.

 _The drink_. It had been magical, or at least magically made, that much Ed knew from the start. " _Now I've truly won a new pet!_ " had said the Witch, just after the cup had been swung against a wall, melting back into snow. It had taken Ed a while to get that _she_ was supposed to be the Witch's new pet, as her mind was still reeling from the woman's painful mental invasion, her body a confused mess–not cooling further, but not warming up at all, either, when not long ago she had been on the very edge of hypothermia.

Edmée wished she hadn't known, though, for even as Shanza assured her that all the Witch's blood had been purged off her once Aslan had sacrificed himself in her stead, the girl could not stop thinking how nothing would have happened–and how Aslan wouldn't have needed to let himself be killed, resurrection or not–if she _hadn't fell asleep_ in the first place. Wasn't that how the curse had been activated? By her _finally_ going to sleep?

That golden stare was still fixed on her though, and Edmée felt bare, her mind open in a very different way as it had been after the Witch's ministrations, for Aslan seemed to be staring at her very soul. It wasn't an invasion, and he was not harming her in any way, so she was unsure as to how she should respond.

"You could not have kept yourself awake any more than you could have kept the sun from rising, my dear. The Witch, by wreaking havoc on your mind previously, left you far too weak to keep yourself conscious when the curse was activated, as your so-called snow twin started draining your energy."

She couldn't bear to look at him, biting her lip and blushing in shame, for if true then her own weakness had caused his death. Her thoughts would have kept coiling in venomous self-hateful spirals if Aslan hadn't, quite suddenly, bumped her with his snout, the slight touch, and the scent of his mane, tearing through her waves of self-hatred as surely as his teeth had teared through the Witch's head–and she knew, for she had seen what remained of Jadis afterwards, before her body dissolved into dark blue miasma she had quickly ran from without daring to breathe until she was well away and her lungs burned with her lack of air–, leaving a much needed peace behind. It was temporary, she knew. He could only battle her demons so directly if he was around, and not being a tame Lion, the probability of him remaining by her side was somewhere within the negative part of the numeric scale. _But then_ , maybe she _deserved it_. To suffer, to feel disgusted, to endure the consequences of her weakness–.

"Child, _stop_. The Witch was treacherous, and had far too much experience with breaking sentients apart. I'm very much afraid the world she came from was full to the brim with the careless joy at other's pain she so gleefully showed here. _Rejoice_ , instead, for you kept firm against the trials Fate put you under. And I can see it in your eyes, shining in your soul, the love you hold for your family. _Rejoice_ , Just Princess, for your mind is sharp and your heart warm, and both shall lead you to make the proper decisions."

"Aslan..." her whole being was trembling, joy and peace battling her lingering shame, as her eyes rose to his again. And if a Lion could smile, he did, right then.

"Don't regret my sacrifice, dear child. I've found no greater joy than being able to save you, as I know you'll save many others–and after you, those who shall carry your blood on. Hear, for you'll soon become a Queen of Narnia: let this land, this country, _these people_ be the belonging you've been looking for. Let Narnia be your home, Just Edmée, and it will love you and cherish you, for a Narnian monarch _is_ their land, their country, their people. Remember, you are not alone. If your will falters, know that the Magnificent, the Gentle and the Valiant will be there to strengthen you. As will I, if only from here," he said, his snout carefully bumping her chest, and her heart felt warmer, lighter, as he allowed her to hug him, his mane silk against her cheeks.

And so she rejoiced, and her tears fell–from joy, now–as her fears were quenched. Not fully, for her fight would not end for many years yet (and she knew that she would have to deal with the nightmares later), but Aslan was right, because she would not be _alone_.

One breath from him and her tunic became longer, until its edge brushed her dark boots past her knees, its cut tighter as the tunic itself became more of a short dress, silver crest still embroidered on its chest, her breeches still hugging her legs.

For the very first time in her life, Edmée could be said to be wearing both her boy and girl clothes at once, which should have looked awful in theory, but as she looked at herself in the mirror again, Aslan still a warm presence by her side, she looked at the somewhat eccentric girl that stared back, girly and boyish in a mix that left her warm from head to toes, and smiled.

She _was_ a bride, and she _was_ ready.

Narnia would be her husband and her wife.

(Or so she thought back then)

* * *

She certainly wasn't the only ruler-to-be that needed the Lion's support that day.

(They didn't know He would be gone soon. He was saying _goodbye_ )

* * *

They all approached as one, Edmée and Peter on one side, Susan and Lucy on the other, Aslan's warmth somehow reaching them all, as they went through the Hall, flanked by all the warriors that had fought with them on the fords of Beruna, their swords held high at attention, like a silver arch for them to pass under.

They reached the stairs, and Edmée, like her siblings, stared at the four thrones that awaited them. Each one was raised in a small dais on their own, while remaining all at the same height, golden halos as the only colour in their otherwise purely white marble, and above, in each throne, a different emblem.

Peter's was a replica of Rhindon, Susan's was her horn, Lucy's her Fire-Flower cordial, and Edmée's showed an image of her sword breaking Jadis' wand–although it also seemed to resemble a set of scales–, just at her brother's right. Behind them, a huge coloured tripartite window, within a semi-circular arch that brought their sight upwards to the glass roof over the thrones.

Regarding the future monarchs, Peter, as Edmée had already noticed, was clad in a royal blue tunic, the chemise underneath a rather light baby blue, while both his breeches, the details on his tunic and his cape, were golden. He looked, she felt, like a King already, even without a crown. Susan, who resembled Edmée's clothing the most when it came to colours, wore a beautiful silver dress, carefully decorated with lighter grey embroidery, her navy blue cape contrasting rather nicely with the light colours of her dress, her hair in an upwards hairdo she had offered to do for Edmée–who had refused as politely as she could–, while Lucy wore a simpler–yet not less beautiful–in a lighter silver than Edmée or Susan, her red cape contrasting with her dress. All of them, though, had brooches closing their capes, just over their jugular notch, all golden and engraved with Aslan's face encircled in his mane.

It was thrilling, to stand in front of the Thrones, to know they all had a place _for them_ , and Edmée couldn't keep herself from smiling as they walked upstairs, all at once, until they reached the top of the dais, and each one of them knew where they had to go, as Aslan stopped between Susan and Peter, turning to face the crowd. Once in front of their thrones, Edmée, Peter, Susan and Lucy did as well, turning to look at the people who would become their subjects, now all of them smiling, as Aslan started their coronation.

"To the glistening Eastern Sea, I give you Queen Lucy, _the Valiant_." He said, turning to look at Lucy, whose whole face seemed to brighten up, so delighted she was. The Beavers came then, holding two pillows with four crowns, two each, one silver, one golden. Mr Tumnus followed them, a royal blue scarf with golden details his only clothing, face happy and proud, a somewhat bashful smile for the Valiant Queen, as he gave her a small bow before taking the thinner golden crown (1), which was like little flowers all merged together, and delicately put it on her head, looking proud and as if he was trying to keep himself from smiling too much as the newly crowned Queen rose, her brightest smile still gracing her lips, before he retreated back for the thickest silver crown, and approached Edmée, who as her sister had done inclined herself to receive her crown, as Aslan's voice resonated again through the Hall.

"To the great Western Wood, Queen Edmée, _the Just_." Edmée knew she was blushing, as her crown, the thickest silver one, which had leaves in threes, as if calling out to flowers of Lis, was settled on her head, her new title leaving her whole body tingling with delight, and she rose, turning to give Peter with a radiant smile, and her eyes twinkled when he smiled back, before their attention was diverted to Susan.

"To the radiant Southern Sun," Aslan said, as Mr Tumnus held the thinner silver crown and settled it on her sister's dark hair. "Queen Susan, _the Gentle_." Her crown was like a swirl of flowers in couples, all held in a silver base one finger wide, and her smile was positively radiant, as the Southern Sun she had been given to.

"And to the clear Northern Sky, I give you King Peter, _the Magnificent_." Mr Tumnus set Peter's crown, the thickest golden one, the one Edmée could not help but think as _the kingliest_ , and as her brother rose, Edmée could no longer see merely Peter Pevensie, from Finchley. Her brother had been reborn, right there in front of her very eyes, _the Magnificent_ risingas Aslan's voice echoed through the Hall, the fierceness of his last crowning resonating within them all, for Peter was no mere King. He was, and would be, from that day on, _Narnia's High King_ , and Edmée had to bit her lip to keep herself from gasping, as Peter's whole demeanour seemed to change, a royal grace settling on him.

Mr Tumnus and the Beavers, as everyone else in the Hall but Aslan Himself, had bowed to their new High King, their new monarchs, and as Aslan turned to them, the Four sat on their thrones for the very first time.

"Once a King or Queen of Narnia, _always_ a King or Queen." Said Aslan, more quietly now, and yet his words seemed to engrave themselves in their hearts, as the Lion looked at them all, and continued. "May your wisdom grace us until the Stars rain down from the heavens."

He turned back, and through the Hall now resonated, both his cries and those of the ones that joined him.

"Long live King Peter!"

"Long live Queen Edmée!"

"Long live Queen Susan!"

"Long live Queen Lucy!"

And as the cries rang through the Hall, each one of the Four looked at each other, proud smiles, delight and a hint of joyful tears in all of them, as they turned to look at their subjects, their _people_ , clamouring their names, _accepting_ them, and the Four let their hearts flood with their happiness.

 _A new Era had begun_.

* * *

From one of the balconies, Queen Lucy saw Aslan, walking farther and farther away along the shore, as the festivities at her back grew louder and louder.

"Don't worry," said Mr Tumnus, approaching at seeing her thus saddened. She turned and smiled at her first Narnian friend, as he looked at her, his face etched in certainty. "We'll see him again."

"When?" asked her.

"In time," he answered. "One day he'll be here and the next he won't. But you mustn't press him," he continued, Lucy completely focused on him now. "After all, he's not a _tame_ lion."

"No," the Valiant said, still sad, but understanding. "But he's good."

He looked at her, for she was about to cry, and from under his scarf, he took out her handkerchief, the one she had given him seemingly so long ago, the one he had stained with a drop of her sister's blood, left within the snow, close to the Beavers' house to be found once the Witch had left.

"Here," he said, the handkerchief now as pristine white as it used to be, no blood drop in sight. "You need it more than I do."

She looked at his still smiling face, somewhat unsure, but took it nonetheless, holding it tight in her left hand as he held her right, and together they looked up towards where the Lion had been mere seconds ago, only to find and empty beach, not even a trail left behind. Lucy gasped, then, and looking up again towards her friend, she sobbed, tears still kept from falling, as she looked up into the setting sun.

 _ **A/N**_ : I know, I know, mostly the Crowning, but hey, from here on... Golden Age!

(1): I know in the movie (and maybe in the books, I don't know) Susan is given the thinner golden crown. And I get why they did it, separating the Pevensies in older/younger. Thing is, that's not how _I_ divide the Pevensies. I follow the lighter personalities vs the colder personalities divide. Meaning, Peter-and-Lucy (the _"golden duo"_ ) with Edmée-and-Susan (the _"silver duo"_ ) which makes far more sense to me, because Ed is the silver to Peter's gold as Susan is the silver to Lucy's gold, not the other way around. So, there's that.

 _Why is it I only notice typos_ after _uploading the chapter?_


	9. The Hidden Door

_**A/N**_ : I stayed up 'till late to finish reading " _The Horse and his Boy"_ , then I went and read some other stuff from other fandoms, and then I went to my Bookmarks in AO3 and reread the amazing, astounding, _breath-taking_ masterpiece (still ongoing) that is _"We get dark, only to shine"_ by Anghraine, which just so happens to be _the_ fic for me, at least when it comes to Bro-Sis Incest. Expect references/inspiration from both, even if the only things I'll take from Lewis will be the Pevensies and a loose timeline. Also, I had 2k words _plus_ already written for this, which were really, _really_ different, but my muse demanded to scratch it all out and restart... Btw, after thinking about it, I changed my fan cast for Fem!Edmund (aka Edmée) from Alycia Debnam-Carey to Adelaide Kane, whom I think fits better as the Just Queen (and has many, many, many photos in gorgeous queenly dresses thanks to her role in Reign).

 _ **Lux Aeterna**_

 _ **9 – The Hidden Door**_

Edmée lasted a week, and not even _she_ would later figure out _how_. It would be nice to say that she had been able to keep herself together, but then that wouldn't be true.

No, if she had kept herself from doing something as fool-hardy as _sneaking into her brother's bedchambers_ , it was mostly due to the simple fact that she feared that someone would see her, and it would be most dreadful if it was known that the newly crowned Just Queen was as much of a child as she looked, doing something as childish as going to her elder brother for comfort. And even then, as childish as she knew she was being, she only managed to get some precious but too little sleep when she pressed herself against the wall that separated their bedchambers.

Their bedchambers... She told herself that it was only that Peter was the closest to her, what with Susan and Lucy having _their_ bedchambers all the way down to the opposite wing of the castle than hers, but when she lied pressed against the wall that separated her from him, she was able to recognize that even had they been as far from each other as Susan and Lucy were from them, she would have still dragged herself every night to lie by his walls.

For she _remembered_ , the way his warmth had rooted her back to life, even if it had been Lucy' cordial what had healed her wounds, just like she remembered his voice, so long ago, cutting through her _too-terrified-to-move_ body, taking her to safety within his arms. He had been saviour so many times, always able to distract her with his silly faces during chess, and the amusing cockiness in his smirks while they played croquet... Was it truly _that_ weird that she felt safest by his side?

She had certainly _not_ wanted to push any mysterious part of the wall with her head–for she had tripped with her sheets and pillows while trying to rearrange them more comfortably against said wall–, activating quite by accident what seemed to be a secret passage that lead right into Peter's bedchambers.

The stone giving way, as her body falling into her brother's floor, weren't exactly quiet in the quiet night... But Peter had always been a heavy sleeper, so even as Edmée froze in her place on the ground, not even daring to breathe, only a grunt came from the canopied bed, the room soon back to its incredibly quietness, suddenly broken by Edmée's short breaths, for she had been unable to keep herself from breathing any more. The secret door she had somehow activated started closing again, barely giving her time to pull her blankets and pillows away as it close in front of her, leaving her trapped in her brother's room, with only three sheets and two pillows, still in her night dress–the white one that reached well past her feet and made it hard for her to walk around in it, but that Susan adored to see in her–, with her brother sleeping not three meters behind her.

And she should have put herself to work on the wall again, trying to figure out _how_ to switch the door back on and go back to her room... Still, she _was_ rather tired, and Peter's mere presence _was_ able to keep her nightmares away, as she had learned years ago. Also, the door made quite the sound when it opened, and even heavy sleeper Peter would wake if he kept hearing it. Remaining, sleeping for a little while, couldn't be all that bad, now could it? Peter wouldn't even have to know. _No one_ would have to know. Edmée rearranged her pillows and sheets by her brother's bed, on the floor, so far and yet so close that his warmth seemed to reach her through the canopy and everything else. Thereupon, she fell asleep, her dreams mere mixes of bright colours and soft memories, instead of nightmares clawing at her mind.

* * *

Peter had never been a morning person. He was at his best from midday to dusk, and yet his rather intense training and his many lessons left him too tired to do much more than bathe, put his nightclothes on, and fall asleep on his rather large bed, safe from early sunlight by the purple canopy that surrounded his bed, made from some kind of thick fabric he could not truly bother to ask about. So when he was suddenly brought into mid-conscience by something, he merely laid there, tiredly wondering what could have possible awakened him, and if he could just go back to sleep. At least, when that something moved, and he realized that one of his arms had sneaked out of the canopy and was indeed holding what undoubtedly felt like a hand.

He then stayed very, _very_ still, as his remaining free arm moved quietly to draw the canopy a little out of the way, so that he could see what was holding his hand captive. Now, his windows where at the opposite side of the room, and his own bed casted a rather large shadow, but the moonlight was able to illuminate the darkness somewhat, or at least enough so that Peter could recognize Edmée, if rather vaguely and mostly due to his brain filling up the parts of the scene he couldn't actually see. She was lying on the floor, a pillow between her knees as the other remained under her head, his hand held tightly against her chest, as one would a teddy bear, her hair a mess and her nightshift rumpled, feet tangled in a mostly discarded blanket, another peeking out from under her body. She was almost curled around hi hand, as if seeking some kind of anchor, and dreaded to think about what may have moved his sister to do something she hadn't done since she was six. Trying to move her might wake her up, and he knew that if she hadn't awakened him before, it would be most certainly _because_ she didn't want him to notice. As if he would ever dismiss her as childish, especially after the whole mess with the Witch, after almost _losing her_.

No. No, if she woke up, then he would deal with it, and she _would listen_ , because he would be damned if he could do something about her nightmares and the only thing keeping him from helping her ended up being her fear.

His body may still not be strong enough to carry her around, but he certainly could bring her up his bed, if with some manoeuvring because she hadn't wanted to free his hand, curling up around him as he put her down on the bed, arms around his neck and a soft pleasing gasp on her throat, as if begging him not to turn away from her.

 _Oh, Eddie. No, no, no._ _I'm here. I'm here, I won't let you go..._

Once she was away from the edge of the bed–Peter finding it easier to just drag her slowly towards him as he backed into the centre of the bedding–, and tucked safely under a light blanket, he went back to sleep, Edmée's steady presence scaring away his nightmares too–memories, more like, that he wouldn't confess to have for he was sure she was dealing with enough things on her own–, for curled as she was around his chest, he could feel her heartbeat next to his. She was safe, by his side. The Witch wouldn't reach her here.

* * *

Edmée woke up from the best sleep she had had since she could remember quite mournfully, for she would have wished to just stay there forever, but wake up she did.

Everything was still rather dark, but she could feel a warmness by her side, around her, even, her head tucked under someone else's she immediately recognized if by scent alone, wormwood and something else that was just _Peter_. She loved it, and hence she pressed herself closer to him, her face on his neck, his hair tickling her nose, and she felt him in turn tightening his hold on her waist, his legs, which had trapped hers, pulling her even closer, as if he was afraid that she would vanish should he release her... _Then_ her mind caught up with her body, and all her morning daze was swallowed by the realisation that she _was in Peter's bed_ _and oh God Susan and Lucy would laugh at her if they knew_...

 _Well_ , not that they _would_ , but if she had been babied after the whole issue of her capture at the Witch's hands–and really, _what had that faun told them?_ –, she was sure that, if found to need Peter to sleep like a baby would their comfy blanket...

 _No, no, no, no way, no how..._

Getting away from him was _hard_ , and not only because she didn't really want to leave. Her brother had had her in a rather tight embrace, and getting him to let go had taken all her cunning and improvisation skills, what with having to convince him to let go without waking him up–she kissed his forehead, and his cheeks, and his nose quite a lot, for he made a weird purring-like sound and slackened his hold on her every time she did so–, but in the end, after what seemed like hours, she managed it.

Leaving behind the safety of his presence, her feet on the floor's cold marble, whole body trembling, missing the warmth she had been wrapped in not long ago, she put herself to work and touched the wall that connected his bedroom to his until she found the way to open the secret door.

"Edmée," said Peter, who somehow had sneaked behind her without her noticing, "why are you leaving?"

She was afraid to turn, biting her lip as she thought of all the things he could scold her for, but he was talking to her, so open secret door forgotten, she turned around and gathering all her courage, managed to look up at his face.

Her brother would usually seem not fully _there_ in the mornings, but as she looked into his cerulean eyes, they were sharper than in most days. His hair was a mess of golden strands, but instead of diminishing the sudden sternness of his presence, it seemed more like a halo, properly framing an angel's face...And said angel was still waiting for an explanation.

"I-I..." She meant to say something along the lines of _'I didn't want to bother you more than I've already'_ , but something in his expression assured her that _that_ wouldn't go well. "I was scared," she said instead, without really realizing, the words tumbling from her mouth before she could even hope to stop them.

Peter's whole demeanour changed, sorrow filling his eyes as a hurt expression overcame his previous sternness. His hands, by his sides, grabbed his nightclothes tightly, but his sight never left hers.

"Can't you... Can't you trust me, anymore? Have I... Have I failed you so deeply as to lose the trust you used to have in me, even when things got harsh back... before?"

Edmée wanted, _so much_ , to punch herself. With a carelessly worded sentence, she had turned the Magnificent back into an insecure thirteen-year-old. Her strong, proud, _confident_ Peter, into a lost child who seemed to have had taken away something precious without remorse or care.

"No, no, Peter! Peter, is not that!" She had been unable to keep herself from running to him then, her hands rising to cup his beloved face, her thumbs caressing his cheeks. His hands would have usually set themselves on her shoulders, but no they remained by his sides, still clutching his nightclothes. "I trust you, _I trust you_ , really, I do! But... I didn't want to burden you...with my silliness. Peter, _please_..."

He finally hugged her back, tucking her head under his, but his body was still tense, as an arrow about to be shot. "No, Eddie. You don't trust me, or else we don't know each other anymore, if you could think I would send you away," and she would have protested had he not kept talking just then. "But I'll win your trust back, Ed. If it takes me years, I'll win it back. Until then, please, know I sleep better with you by my side, so no, you could never bother me."

She wanted to tell him then, how she _did_ trust him, for even when he had been actually mean to her–which, from him, was merely getting slightly annoyed at her antics or going with his friends without her by his side–, he had always tried to make it up to her, even when she made it especially difficult. Because even as she managed to mostly cut herself from the rest of their family, her repressed toxic emotions slipping through the walls containing them and poisoning her feelings towards them, doing so with him had been utterly unbearable, like cutting an arm off, and had pained her every single second of every single day she had to force herself to act as if she didn't need his reassurance and his attention to feel loved, balanced, _right_.

But she also knew that he wouldn't believe her, not right then, and so she just let herself enjoy his hug and proceeded to cuddle with him, back on his bed, the canopy protecting them from the sunlight as they remained there, comfortably, before separating to go bath and change their clothes, just to meet again in his bedchamber.

His bedding had been changed, and the _"secret"_ door oiled, so that when Edmée opened it again, it made no sound at all, not to mention the tray with more than enough food for two lying on his night table. Still, they didn't pay attention to any of this. The siblings curled again around each other in the eldest's bed, and Peter told her stories of many kinds, until his throat parched and they moved to eat some of their breakfast/lunch, which had cooled considerably by the but hadn't stopped being delicious, before going back to the bed. _Then_ , though, Edmée told him of what had happened since the first time she entered Narnia, if rather censored because she didn't really want to think about it, nor did she want him to know the depths of her weakness.

An unknown amount of time after that, they finally left Peter's bedchambers, walking calmly through Cair Paravel, before descending to the beach and playing with the still lukewarm water, for even if the temperatures within Cair tended to be rather chilly–thanks to all the marble, Ed had guessed–, Summer outside was at its hottest. And they kept playing, throwing each other into the water, or building sandcastles just to see them swallowed by the sea. It was amazing, and left them both warm to their toes, heart fluttering happily in their chests. They had gotten their best friend back, so even if they had to go back to Cair every two hours to reapply Mrs Beaver's protective cream on Edmée, it ended up being one of the best afternoons of their lives.

* * *

"Will they be back to normal now, Su?" asked Lucy, from the same balcony she had watched Aslan go, Susan by her side, as they both watched their siblings playing in the beach, smiling and laughing like they hadn't done since Edmée learned about their father going to war.

"I dearly hope so, Lu. It does seem like we're going to get our siblings back..." (1)

The sisters, unlike their siblings, who hadn't even bothered to ponder it, knew that that very morning, Mr Tumnus had gone to wake the High King and the Just Queen, for otherwise they would be late to their lessons, only to find Edmée's bed empty, and the siblings curled up in Peter's bed.

Going back to ask the remaining Queens for advice, Lucy and Susan had ended up getting Mrs Beaver's help to convince Oreius and their other tutors to let them have the day off, for they had been working non-stop since their coronation, and even if they _would_ keep working harder in the future, they agreed that Peter and Edmée needed a day more or less to themselves to start fixing their relationship, for just as they had been the closest, their separation had caused several deep wounds that needed time to heal, and having a day to revel in the fact that they were back together would not hurt anyone.

To boot, the remaining troops of the Witch's army would need time to organize themselves, so an attack was highly improbable.

"And anyway, having them all together in one place will be better," had said Susan about the remnants of the Witch's army, "for we'll be able to end their folly in one fell swoop, if they're all together in one place, that if we must go out hunting them one by one."

* * *

From that day on, after their lessons and their time attending to petitions from their subjects, Peter and Edmée said good bye to their sisters, bathed and changed into their nightclothes, just to meet in his room, or hers, telling each other several stories and fairy tales, until sleep saw fit to take them.

 _ **A/N**_ : As I said, I had more than two thousand words written of this chapter, before having to restart because it didn't feel _right_ to me. Also, I know their relationship is going moderately slow, but I want to progress it correctly. Well, _that_ and the fact that they're still 13 and 10, respectively, so yeah, long way yet to cover.

(1) Here I want to remark that Peter and Edmée are, and have always been, really, _really_ close. Like, Showtime's _The Borgias_ ' Cesare-Lucrezia level of close, especially after the Perry Incident. Yes, they've had their petty moments, but they usually went beyond them quite faster than most siblings. Susan and Lucy got used to that since very early on–if Susan didn't press much so Edmée would tell her what was wrong in their boarding school, that was partly because she felt she would be "stealing" Peter's role, in a sense (she _did_ notice something wasn't okay)–, so to see Edmée close off not only from them but also _from Peter_ after learning about their father going to the front...Let's say they felt something was utterly wrong, more so since, by being "apart" in such a way, they could no longer balance each other out (like Lucy and Susan balance each other out), so nor Peter nor Edmée were acting as the siblings they knew and loved. Hence Susan and Lucy's happiness at their siblings "mending bridges" between them.


	10. Author's Note

_**Hello everyone!**_

I'm truly sorry for having to post this Author's Note, but in case you were wondering, yes, there's an actual new chapter (I felt this whole deal with the A/N would be more acceptable this way). If you aren't all that interested in what I have to say right now, I encourage you to go to my AO3 –my pseudonym is the same, just take out the space between _Brytte_ and _Mystere_ – the new story is called _Rewind_ and will encompass the first arc of the rewritten _Lux Aeterna_. There you will find the newly posted second chapter!

Now, for those of you who have a minute, I'll explain why I felt the need to do this.

It's rather simple. I started writing this story hoping to weave it in such a way it felt natural, mostly wanting to give something to this quiet fandom I could be proud of. I came reading Lirenel's and Sentimental Star's and of course, Elecktrum's works, with stars in my eyes hoping for the best.

I wanted to share with all of you my own particular view of Narnia, Aslan, Jadis and the Pevensies. Problem is, I was in such a rush to get to write Pedmund at long last, I kinda shot myself in the foot there.

Because I reached chapter 10 and felt stifled. There was simply no way for me to keep on writing the story! So I sit back, chatted a bit with my beta and pen pal NickeltheRed, and ended up absolutely certain that I had to go back and rewrite this whole thing.

Now, I managed to reach Elecktrum and I found there, too, a lot of support, so as of right now I have these two amazing friends helping me shape up this story into something _awesome_.

So! So! So! Go ahead and read it, if you want to! The old story on will remain available till I reach chapter 12 of the rewrite on AO3, but the old story on AO3 will be deleted by next Sunday.

Love,

Brytte


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